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BRITISH    ESSAYISTS: 


PREFACES, 
HISTORICAL    AND    BIOGRAPHICAL, 

BY 

A.   CHALMERS,   F.  S.  A. 

VOLUME    XI. 


BOSTON: 

LITTLE,    BEOWN     AND     COMPANY. 
M.DCCC.LVI. 


RITEBSrDE,  OaMBRIDOE: 

iTERBOTTPED      AND      PRINTED      BV 

a.    O.    HOCOHTON    AND   COMPANY. 


1341 

V.\l 


SPECTATOR. 


No.  468—548. 


652267 


CONTENTS, 


VOL.   XI. 


NO. 

468.  Death  and  Character  of  Dick  Estcourt Steele. 

469.  On  Benevolence  in  Official  Situations addison. 

470.  Criticism — Specimen  of  various  Readings 

471.  On  Religious  Hope 

472.  Proposal  that  the  Rich  Sick  should  assist  the  Poor 

— On  tha  Loss  of  Sight Steele. 

473.  Letters,  on  Affectation    of  Ignorance — From  a 

Poetical  Lover — Specimen  of  the  Familiar. . . .  


474.  Letter  complaining  of  Country  Manners  and  Con- 

versation— Dumb   Conjuror 

475.  On  asking  Advice  in  Affairs  of  Love addison. 

476.  On  Method  in  Writing  and  Conversation — Cha- 

racters of  Tom  Puzzle  and  Will  Dry 

477.  Letter  on  Gardening 

478.  Proposal  for  a  Repository  of  Fashions steels. 

479.  Causes  of  Unhappiness  in  the  Married  Life 


Tl  CONTENTS. 

NO. 

480.  Letters  from  a  country  Gentleman  to  Pharamond: 

STEELE — From  a  Lawj-er's  Clerk harper. 

481.  Opinions  on  the  Dispute  between  Count  Rechteren 

and  M.  Mesnager addison. 

482.  Letters  from  Hen-peckt  Husbands — From  a  Wo- 

man married  to  a  Cotquean 

483.  On    attributing  our  Neighbours'  Misfortunes  to 

Judgments ; 

484.  Letter  and  Reflections  on  Modesty Steele. 

485.  On  the  Power  of  insignificant  Objects — Character 

of  a  Templar  in  Love — Equestrian  Lady 

486.  Letter  on  Hen-peckt  Keepers 

487.  Essay  on  Dreams addison. 

488.  On  the  Price  and  Success  of  the  Spectator:  addi- 

son— Epigram  on  the  Same tate. 

489.  Meditations  on  the  Wonders  of  the  Deep,  with  a 

Hjinn addison. 

490.  On  Marriage — Excessive  Fondness stkele. 

491.  Story  of  Rhynsault  and  Sapphira 

492.  Advantages  of  Levity  over  grave  Behaviour  in 

youug  Ladies 

493.  On   giving  false  Characters  of  Servants — Letter 

from  Horace  to  Claudius  Nero 

494.  On  Religious  Melancholy addi-<>.\. 

495.  On  the  Number,  Dispersion,  and  Religion  of  the 

Jews 

49C.  Letters  on  the  Conduct  of  gay  and  foppish  Fathers 

— On  Swinging  Steele. 


CONTENTS.  Vll 

NO. 

497.  On  bestowing  Favours  on  the  deserving — Anec- 

dote of  a  Portuguese  Minister  of  Pope  Leo  X . .  Steele. 

498.  Letter    on    young   Templars  turning  Hackney- 

Coachmen  

499.  Will  Honeycomb's  Account  of  the  Siege  of  Hers- 

berg,  and  his  Dream ADDIso^^ 

500.  Defence  and  Happiness  of  a  Married  Life Steele. 

501.  Patience,  an  Allegory paknell. 

502.  On  the  Taste  of  a  Eoman  and  English  theatrical 

Audience Steele. 

503.  Ealph   Wonder's    Account    of  the    Phantom   at 

Church 

604.  Substitutes  for  Conversation— Trick  of  Biting 

505.  On  Conjurors  and  Revealers  of  Dreams addison. 

506.  Reflections  on  Errors  in  Marriage — Characters  of 

Erastus,  Letitia,  Tawdry,  and  Flavilla budgell. 

507.  On  party  Lies addison. 

508.  Description  of  a  Tavem-tyrant>— Complaint  against 

a  Coxcomb Steele. 

609.  On  Abuses  at  the  Royal  Exchange— Maxims  of 

Thrift 


610.  On  the  Irresistible  Power  of  Beauty 

511.  Wm  Honeycomb's  Proposal  of  a  Fair  for  Mar- 

riage— Sale  of  unmarried  Women addison. 

512.  On  giving  Advice 

513.  Meditation  on  Death,  a  Hymn 

514.  Vision  of  Mount  Parnassus Steele. 

515.  Letters  from  a  town  Coquette  to  her  Friend,  and 

Answer " 


Vm  CONTENTS. 

NO. 

516.  On  Persecution— Character  of  William  III steeled 

517.  Death  of  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley. .' addison. 

518.  Letters  on  Epitaphs :  steele— University  Pliysio- 

gnouiy ORATOR  HENLEY. 

519.  Meditation  on  Animal  Life vudison. 

520.  On  the  Death  of  a  beloved  Wife fbancham. 

621.  On  the  Uncertainty  and  Absurdity  of  Public  Re- 
ports     STEELE. 


622.  Advice  to  Ladies  on  ilarriage 

523.  Poeny  too  often  mixed  with  Mythology — Edict  on 

that  Subject addison. 

524.  On    Visions:    Steele — Visions  of  worldly    and 

heavenly  Wisdom dunlop  &  Montgomery. 

625.  Success  of  the  Spectators — On  Marriage — Letter 

of  Pliny  to  Hispulla hughbs. 

526.  On  Templars  turning  Hackney-Coachmen— Com- 

mission to  Mr.  John  Sly stkele. 

527.  Letter  on  a  Jealous  Husband :  steele— From  a 

languishing   Lover pope. 

628.  Complaints  of  Rachel  Welladay  against  the  Young 

Men  of  the  Age steele. 

529.  Rules  of  Precedency  among  Authors  and  Actors,  addison. 

530.  Account  of  the  Maniage  of  Will  Honeycomb. . . 

631.  On  the  Idea  of  the  Supreme  Being 

682.  The  Author's  Success  in  producing  meritorious 
Writings— Adrian's  Verse? :  steele— Verses  to 
the  Spectator:  tickell— Letter  from  Mr.  Sly 
on  Hats stkkle. 


CONTENTS.  IX 

NO. 

533.  Letters  on  Parents  forcing  the  Inclinations  of  their 

Children — On  Rudeness  and  Impudence Steele. 

534.  Letters,  from  a  spoilt  rich  Beauty — Dapperwit's 

Question — From  a  Grocer  in  Love — From  an 

Idol— A  Minute  from  Mr.  Slj' 

535.  On  vain  Hopes  of  temporal  Objects — Story  of  Al- 

neschar addison. 

536.  The  Author's  Interview  with  a  Lady — Her  Letter 

on  proper  Employment  for  Beaux — Character 

of  a  Shoeins-Horn 


537.  On  the  Dignity  of  Human  Nature hughes. 

538.  On    Extravagance    in  Storj^-telling — Epitaph  in 

Pancras  Churchyard Addison. 

539.  The  Intentions  of  a  Widow  respecting  her  Suitors: 

STEELE — On  Delay  in  Marriage :  budgell — On 
a  ClergjTuan  spoiUng  one  of  TiDotson's  Ser- 
mons  HUGHES. 

540.  Letter  on  the  Merits  of  Spenser hughes. 

541.  On  Pronunciation  and  Action 

542.  Criticisms  on  the  Spectator — Letter  on  the  Decay 

of  the  Club ADDISON. 

543.  Meditation  on  the  Frame  of  the  Human  Body. . . 

544.  Letter  from  Capt.  Sentry  on  the  Character  of  Sir 

Roger  de  Coverley,  and  on  his  own  Situation  . .  Steele. 

545.  Letter  from  the  Emperor  of  China  to  the  Pope — 

Note  from  Jlr.  Sly 

546.  On  dishonest  Dealing — Cibber's  heroic  Daughter 

— Letter  on  a  generous  Benefactor 

547.  Cures  performed  by  the  Spectator addison. 

548.  Letter  on  Poetical  Justice UNKNO^vN. 


THE    SPECTATOE. 


No.  468.     WEDNESDAY,  AUGUST  27,  1712. 


Erat  homo  ingeniosus,  acutus,  acer,  et  qui  plurimum  et  salts  haberet 
ei  fellis,  nee  candoris  minus.  plin.  epist. 

He  was  an  ingenious,  pleasant  fellow,  and  one  who  had  a  great 
deal  of  wit  and  satire,  with  an  eqlial  share  of  good-humour. 

My  paper  is,  in  a  kind,  a  letter  of  news,  but  it  re- 
gards ratlier  what  passes  in  the  world  of  conversa- 
tion than  that  of  business.  I  am  very  sorry  that  I 
have  at  present  a  circumstance  before  me,  which  is 
of  very  great  importance  to  all  who  have  a  relish 
for  gayety,  wit,  mirth,  or  humour ;  I  mean  the  death 
of  poor  Dick  Estcourt.  I  have  been  obliged  to  him 
for  so  many  hours  of  jollity,  that  it  is  but  a  small 
recompense,  though  all  I  can  give  him,  to  pass  a 
moment  or  two  in  sadness  for  the  loss  of  so  agreeable 
a  man.  Poor  Estcourt !  the  last  time  I  saw  him, 
we  were  plotting  to  show  the  town  his  great  capacity 
for  acting  in  its  full  light,  by  introducing  him  as 
dictating  to  a  set  of  young  players,  in  what  manner 
to  speak  this  sentence,  and  utter  the  other  passion. 
He  had  so  exquisite  a  discerning  of  what  was  de- 
fective in  any  object  before  him,  that  in  an  instant 
he  could  show  you  .the  ridiculous  side  of  what  would 


12  SPECTATOR.  NO.   468, 

pass  for  beautiful  and  jiist,  even  to  men  of  no  ill 
judgment,  before  he  liad  pointed  at  the  failure.  He 
was  no  less  skilful  in  the  knowledge  of  beauty  ;  and, 
I  dare  say,  there  is  no  one  who  knew  him  well,  but 
can  repeat  more  well-turned  comjdiments,  as  well 
as  smart  repartees  of  Mr.  Estcourt's,  than  of  any 
other  man  in  England.  This  was  easily  to  be  ob- 
served in  his  inimitable  faculty  of  telling  a  story,  in 
which  he  would  throw  in  natural  and  unexpected 
incidents  to  make  his  court  to  one  part,  and  rally 
the  other  part  of  the  company.  Then  he  would  vary 
the  usage  he  gave  them,  according  as  he  saw  them 
bear  kind  or  sharp  language.  He  had  the  knack  to 
raise  up  a  pensive  temper,  and  mortify  an  imperti- 
nently gay  one,  with  the  most  agreeable  skill  ima- 
ginable. There  are  a  thousand  things  which  crowd 
into  my  memory,  which  make  me  too  much  con- 
cerned to  tell  on  about  him.  Hamlet,  holding  up  the 
skull  which  the  grave-digger  threw  to  him,  with  an 
account  that  it  was  the  head  of  the  king's  jester, 
falls  into  very  pleasing  reflections,  and  cries  out  to 
his  companion, 

'  Alas,  poor  Yorick !  I  knew  him,  Horatio,  a  fel- 
low of  infinite  jest,  of  most  excellent  fancy  ;  he  hath 
borne  me  on  his  back  a  thousand  times ;  and  now 
how  abhorred  in  my  imagination  it  is  !  my  gorge 
rises  at  it.  Here  hung  those  lips  that  I  have  kissed 
I  know  not  how  oft.  Where  be  your  gibes  now, 
your  gambols,  your  songs,  your  flashes  of  merriment, 
that  were  wont  to  set  the  table  on  a  roar  ?  Not 
one  now  to  mock  your  own  grinning :  quite  chap- 
fallen.  Now  get  you  to  my  lady's  chamber,  and 
tell  her,  let  her  paint  an  inch  thick,  to  tiiis  favour 
she  must  come.     Make  her  laugh  at  that.' 

It  is  an  insolence  natural  to  the  wealthy,  to  aflSix, 
as  much  as  in  them  lies,  the  character  of  a  man  to 


NO.   468.  SPECTATOR.  13 

his  circumstances.  Thus  it  is  ordinary  with  them 
to  praise  faintly  the  good  quahties  of  those  below 
them,  and  say,  it  is  very  extraordinary  in  such  a 
man  as  he  is,  or  the  like,  when  they  are  forced  to 
acknowledge  the  value  of  him  whose  lowness  up- 
braids their  exultation.  It  is  to  this  humour  only, 
that  it  is  to  be  ascribed,  that  a  quick  wit  in  conver- 
sation, a  nice  judgment  upon  any  emergency  that 
could  arise,  and  a  most  blameless  inoffensive  beha- 
viour, could  not  raise  this  man  above  being  received 
only  upon  the  foot  of  contributing  to  mirth  and  di- 
version. But  he  was  as  easy  under  that  condition, 
as  a  man  of  so  excellent  talents  was  capable ;  and 
since  they  would  have  it,  that  to  divert  was  his  bu- 
siness, he  did  it  with  all  the  seeming  alacrity  imagi- 
nable, though  it  stung  him  to  the  heart  that  it  was 
his  business.  Men  of  sense,  who  could  taste  his  ex- 
cellences, were  well  satisfied  to  let  him  lead  the 
way  in  conversation,  and  play  after  his  own  manner ; 
but  fools,  who  provoked  him  to  mimicry,  found  he 
had  the«indignation  to  let  it  be  at  their  expense  who 
called  for  it,  and  he  would  show  the  form  of  con- 
ceited heavy  fellows  as  jests  to  the  company  at  their 
own  request,  in  revenge  for  interrupting  him  from 
being  a  companion  to  put  on  the  character  of  a 
jester. 

What  was  peculiarly  excellent  in  this  memorable 
companion,  was,  that  in  the  accounts  he  gave  of  per- 
sons and  sentiments,  he  did  not  only  hit  the  figure 
of  their  faces,  and  manner  of  their  gestures,  but  he 
would  in  his  narrations  fall  into  their  very  way  of 
thinking ;  and  this  when  he  recounted  passages 
wherein  men  of  the  best  wit  were  concerned,  as 
well  as  such  whei'ein  were  represented  men  of  the 
lowest  rank  of  understanding.  It  is  certainly  as 
great  an  instance  of  self-love  to  a  weakness,  to  be 


14  SPECTATOR.  NO.    468. 

impatient  of  being  mimicked,  as  any  can  be  ima- 
gined. There  were  none  but  the  vain,  the  formal, 
the  proud,  or  those  who  were  incapable  of  amend- 
ing their  faults,  that  dreaded  him  ;  to  others,  he  was 
in  the  highest  degree  pleasing ;  and  I  do  not  know 
any  satisfaction  of  any  indifferent  kind  I  ever  tasted 
so  much,  as  having  got  over  an  impatience  of  my 
seeing  myself  in  the  air  he  could  put  me  when  I 
have  displeased  him.  It  is  indeed  to  his  exquisite 
talent  this  way,  more  than  any  philosophy  I  could 
read  on  the  subject,  that  my  person  is  very  little  of 
my  care,  and  it  is  indifferent  to  me  what  is  said  of 
my  shape,  my  air,  my  manner,  my  speech,  or  my 
address.  It  is  to  poor  Estcourt  I  chiefly  owe  that 
I  am  arrived  at  the  happiness  of  thinking  nothing  a 
diminution  to  me,  but  Avhat  argues  a  depravity  of 
my  will. 

It  has  as  much  surprised  me  as  any  thing  in  na- 
ture, to  have  it  frequently  said,  that  he  was  not  a 
good  player ;  but  that  must  be  owing  to  a  partiality 
for  former  actors  in  the  parts  in  which  he  succeeded 
them,  and  judging  by  comparison  of  what  was  liked 
before,  rather  than  by  the  nature  of  the  thing.  When 
a  man  of  his  wit  and  smartness  could  put  on  an  utter 
absence  of  common  sense  in  his  face,  as  he  did  in 
the  character  of  Bullfinch  in  the  Northern  Lass, 
and  an  air  of  insipid  cunning  and  vivacity  in  the 
character  of  Pounce  in  The  Tender  Husband,  it  is 
folly  to  dispute  his  capacity,  and  success,  as  he  was 
an  actor. 

Poor  Estcourt !  let  the  vain  and  proud  be  at  rest, 
thou  wilt  no  more  disturb  their  admiration  of  their 
dear  selves ;  and  thou  art  no  longer  to  drudge  in 
raising  the  mirth  of  stupids,  who  know  nothing  of 
thy  merit,  for  thy  maintenance. 

It  is  natural  for  the  generality  of  mankind  to  run 


NO     468.  SPECTATOR.  15 

into  reflections  upon  our  mortality,  when  disturbers 
of  the  world  are  laid  at  rest,  but  to  take  no  notice 
when  thej  who  can  please  and  divert  are  pulled 
from  us.  But  for  my  part,  I  cannot  but  think  the 
loss  of  such  talents  as  the  man  of  whom  I  am 
speaking  was  master  of,  a  more  melancholy  in- 
stance of  mortality  than  the  dissolution  of  persons 
of  never  so  high  characters  in  the  woi'ld,  whose 
pretensions  were  that  they  were  noisy  and  mis- 
chievous. 

But  I  must  grow  more  succinct,  and,  as  a  Specta- 
tor, give  an  account  of  this  exti-aordinary  man,  who, 
in  his  way,  never  had  an  equal  in  any  age  before 
him,  or  in  that  wherein  he  lived.  I  speak  of  him 
as  a  companion,  and  a  man  qualified  for  conversa- 
tion. His  fortune  exposed  him  to  an  obsequious- 
ness towax'ds  the  worst  sort  of  company,  but  his  ex- 
cellent qualities  rendered  him  capable  of  making 
the  best  figure  in  the  most  refined.  I  have  been 
present  with  him  among  men  of  the  most  delicate 
taste  a  whole  night,  and  have  known  him,  for  he 
saw  it  was  desired,  keep  the  discourse  to  himself 
the  most  part  of  it,  and  maintain  his  good-humour 
with  a  countenance,  in  a  language  so  delightful, 
without  ofience  to  any  person  or  thing  upon  earth, 
still  preserving  the  distance  his  circumstances  obliged 
him  to ;  I  say,  I  have  seen  him  do  all  this  in  such  a 
charming  manner,  that  I  am  sure  none  of  those  I 
hint  at  will  read  this,  without  giving  him  some  sor- 
row for  their  abundant  mirth,  and  one  gush  of  tears 
for  so  many  bursts  of  laughter.  I  wish  it  were  any 
honour  to  the  pleasant  creature's  memory,  that  my 
eyes  are  too  much  suffused  to  let  me  go  on 


*jlf^  The  following  severe  passage  in  this  number  of  the  Spec- 


16  SPECTATOR.  NO.   469. 

tator  in  folio,  apparently  levelled  at  Dr.   Radcliffe,  was  sup- 
pressed in  all  the  siibseinient  editions: 

'  It  is  a  felicity  his  friends  niaj'  rejoice  in,  that  he  had  his 
senses,  ami  used  them  as  he  ought  to  do,  in  his  last  moments. 
It  is  remarkable  that  his  judgment  was  in  its  calm  perfection  to 
the  utmost  article;  for  when  his  wife,  out  of  her  fondness,  de- 
sired she  might  send  for  a  certain  illiterate  humourist,  whom  he 
had  accompanied  in  a  thousand  mirthful  moments,  and  whose 
insolence  makes  fools  think  he  assumes  from  conscious  merit, 
he  answered,  "  Do  what  you  please,  but  he  will  not  come  near 
me."  Let  poor  I'^stcourt's  negligence  about  this  message  con- 
vince the  unwary  of  a  triumphant  empiric's  ignorance  and  in- 
humanity.' 


No.  469.     THURSDAY,  AUGUST  28,  1712. 


Detrahere  aliquid  alien,  et  hominem  kominis  incommodo  aiium  au- 
gi.re  commodum,  mayis  est  contra  naturam  quam  mors,  gudm 
paupertus,  qudiii  dolor,  quam  cwlera  qua possunt  aut  corjjori  ac- 
cidere,  aut  rebus  externis.  tull. 

To  detract  any  thing  from  another,  and  for  one  man  to  multiply 
his  own  conveniences  by  the  inconveniences  of  another,  is 
more  against  nature  than  death,  than  poverty,  than  pain,  and 
the  other  things  which  can  befall  the  body,  or  external  cir- 
cumstances. 

I  AM  persuaded  there  are  few  men  of  generous 
principles,  who  would  seek  after  great  places,  were 
it  not  rather  to  have  an  opportunity  in  their  hands 
of  obliging  their  particular  friends,  or  those  whom 
they  look  upon  as  men  of  worth,  than  to  procure 
wealth  and  honour  for  themselves.  To  an  honest 
mind,  the  best  perquisites  of  a  place  are  the  advan- 
tages it  gives  a  man  of  doing  good. 

Those  who  are  under  the  great  ollicers  of  state, 
and  are  the  instruments  by  which  they  act,  have 


NO.   469.  SPECTATOR.  17 

more  frequent  opportunities  for  the  exercise  of 
compassion  and  benevolence,  than  their  superiors 
themselves.  These  men  know  every  little  case 
that  is  to  come  before  the  great  man,  and,  if  they 
are  possessed  with  honest  minds,  will  consider  po- 
verty as  a  recommendation  in  the  person  who  ap- 
plies himself  to  them,  and  make  the  justice  of  his 
cause  the  most  powerful  solicitor  in  his  behalf.  A 
man  of  this  temper,  when  he  is  in  a  post  of  business, 
becomes  a  blessing  to  the  public.  He  patronizes 
the  orphan  and  the  widow,  assists  the  friendless, 
and  guides  the  ignorant.  He  does  not  reject  the 
person's  pretensions,  who  does  not  know  how  to  ex- 
plain them,  or  refuse  doing  a  good  office  for  a  man 
because  he  cannot  pay  the  fee  of  it.  In  short, 
though  he  regulates  himself  in  all  his  proceedings 
by  justice  and  equity,  he  finds  a  thousand  occasions 
lor  all  the  good-natured  offices  of  generosity  and 
compassion. 

A  man  is  unfit  for  such  a  place  of  trust,  who  is  of 
11  sour,  untractable  nature,  or  has  any  other  passion 
that  makes  him  uneasy  to  those  who  approach  him. 
Roughness  of  temper  is  apt  to  discountenance  the 
timorous  or  modest.  The  proud  man  discourages 
those  from  approaching  him,  who  are  of  a  mean 
condition,  and  who  most  want  his  assistance.  The 
impatient  man  will  not  give  himself  time  to  be  in- 
formed of  the  matter  that  lies  before  him.  An  of- 
ficer, with  one  or  more  of  these  unbecoming  quali- 
ties, is  sometimes  looked  upon  as  a  proper  person 
to  keep  off  impertience  and  solicitation  from  his 
superior ;  and  this  is  a  kind  of  merit,  that  can  never 
atone  for  the  injustice  which  may  very  often  arise 
from  it. 

There  are  two  other  vicious  quaUties,  which  ren- 
der a  man  very  unfit  for  such  a  place  of  trust.    The 

VOL.    XI.  2 


18  Sl'KCTATOK.  NO.    409. 

first  of  these  is  a  dilatory  temper,  wliicli  commits 
innuitierable  cruelties  witliout  design.  Tiie  maxim 
which  several  iiave  laid  down  for  a  man's  conduct 
in  ordinary  life,  shoidd  be  inviolable  with  a  man  in 
office,  never  to  think  of  doing  that  to-morrow  which 
may  be  done  to-day.  A  man  who  defers  doing  what 
ought  to  be  done,  is  guilty  of  injustice  so  long  as  he 
defers  it.  The  despatch  of  a  good  office  is  very 
often  as  beneficial  to  the  solicitor  as  the  good  office 
itself.  In  short,  if  a  man  compared  the  inconve- 
niences which  another  sutters  by  his  delays,  with  the 
trifling  motives  and  advantages  which  he  himself 
may  reap  by  such  a  delay,  he  would  never  be  guilty 
of  a  fault  wiiich  very  often  does  an  irreparable  pre- 
judice to  the  person  who  depends  upon  him,  and 
which  might  be  remedied  with  little  trouble  to  him- 
self. 

But  in  the  last  place  there  is  no  man  so  improper 
to  be  emjtloyed  in  business,  as  he  who  is  in  any  de- 
gree capable  of  corruption  ;  and  such  a  one  is  the 
man,  who,  upon  any  pretence  whatsoever,  receives 
more  than  what  is  the  stated  and  unquestioned  fee 
of  his  otiice.  Gratifications,  tokens  of  thankfulness, 
despatch  money,  and  the  like  specious  terms,  are  the 
pretences  under  which  corruption  very  frequently 
shelters  itself.  An  honest  man  will,  however,  look 
on  ail  these  methods  as  unjustifiable,  and  will  enjoy 
himself  better  in  a  moderate  fortune  that  is  gained 
with  honour  and  reputation,  than  in  an  overgrown 
estate  that  is  cankered  with  the  acquisitions  of 
rapine  and  exaction.  "Were  all  our  offices  dis- 
charged with  such  an  inflexible  integrity,  we  should 
not  see  men  in  all  ages,  who  grow  up  to  exorbitant 
wealth,  with  the  abilities  whicii  are  to  be  met  with 
in  an  ordinary  mechanic.  I  cannot  but  think  that 
such  a  corruption   proceeds  chiefly  from  men's  em- 


NO.    469.  SPECTATOR.  19 

ploying  the  first  that  offer  themselves,  or  those  who 
have  the  character  of  shrewd  worldly  men,  instead 
of  searching  out  such  as  have  had  a  liberal  educa- 
tion, and  have  been  trained  up  in  the  studies  of 
knowledge  and  virtue. 

It  has  been  observed,  that  men  of  learning  who 
take  to  business,  discharge  it  generally  with  greater 
honesty  than  men  of  the  world.  The  chief  reason 
for  it  I  take  to  be  as  follows.  A  man  that  has  spent 
his  youth  in  reading,  has  been  used  to  find  virtue 
extolled,  and  vice  stigmatized.  A  man  that  has 
passed  his  time  in  the  world,  has  often  seen  vice  tri- 
umphant, and  virtue  discountenanced.  Extortion, 
rapine,  and  injustice,  which  are  branded  Avith  in- 
famy in  books,  often  give  a  man  a  figure  in  the 
world ;  while  several  qualities,  which  are  celebrated 
in  authors,  as  generosity,  ingenuity,  and  good  na- 
ture, impoverish  and  ruin  him.  This  cannot  but 
have  a  proportionable  effect  on  men  whose  tempers 
and  principles  are  equally  good  and  vicious. 

There  would  be  at  least  this  advantage  of  em- 
ploying men  of  learning  and  parts,  in  business  ; 
"that  their  prosperity  would  sit  more  gracefully  on 
them,  and  that  we  should  not  see  many  worthless 
persons  shot  up  into  the  greatest  figures  of  life. 

C 


20  SPECTATOR.  NO.   470, 


No.  470.     FRIDAY,  AUGUST  29,  1712. 


Turpe  est  di^kiles  habere  nuf/as, 

El  stullus  htoor  est  inepliarum.  mart.  epic.  ii.  86. 

'Tis  folly  only,  ami  defect  of  sense, 
Turns  trifles  into  things  of  consequence. 

I  HAVE  been  very  often  disappointed  of  late 
years,  when,  upon  e.vaminiiig  the  new  edition  of  a 
classic  author,  I  have  found  above  half  the  volume 
taken  up  with  various  readings.  When  I  have  ex- 
pected to  meet  witli  a  learned  note  upon  a  doubtful 
passage  in  a  Latin  poet,  I  have  only  been  inJonued, 
that  such  or  such  ancient  manuscripts  for  an  et  write 
an  ac,  or  of  some  other  notable  discovery  of  the  like 
importance.  Indeed,  when  a  ditiVrent  reading  gives 
us  a  different  sense  or  a  new  elegance  in  an  author, 
the  editor  does  very  well  in  taking  notice  of  it;  but 
when  he  only  entertains  us  with  the  several  ways 
of  spelling  the  same  word,  and  gathers  together 
the  various  blunders  and  mistakes  of  twenty  or 
thirty  different  transcribers,  they  only  take  up  the 
time  of  the  learned  reader,  and  puzzle  the  minds 
of  the  ignorant.  I  have  often  fancied  with  myself 
how  enraged  an  old  Latin  author  would  be,  should 
he  see  the  several  absurdities  in  sense  and  gram- 
mar, which  are  imputed  to  him  by  some  or  other  of 
these  various  readings.  In  one  he  speaks  nonsense  ; 
in  another  makes  use  of  a  word  that  was  never 
heard  of;  and  indeed  there  is  scarce  a  solecism  in 
writing  which  the  best  author  is  not  guilty  of,  if  we 


NO.  470.  SPECTATOR.  21 

may  be  at  liberty  to  read  him  in  the  words  of  some 
manuscript,  which  the  laborious  editor  has  thought 
fit  to  examine  in  the  prosecution  of  his  woi'k. 

I  question  not  but  the  ladies  and  pretty  fellows 
will  be  very  curious  to  understand  what  it  is  that  I 
have  been  hitherto  talking  of.  I  shall  therefore 
give  them  a  notion  of  this  practice,  by  endeavouring 
to  write  after  the  manner  of  several  persons  who 
make  an  eminent  figure  in  the  republic  of  letters. 
To  this  end  we  will  suppose  that  the  following  song 
is  an  old  ode,  which  I  present  to  the  public  in  a 
new  edition,  with  the  several  various  readings  which 
1  find  of  it  in  former  editions,  and  in  ancient  manu- 
scripts. Those  who  cannot  relish  the  various  read- 
ings, will  perhaps  find  their  account  in  the  song, 
which  never  before  appeared  in  print. 

My  love  was  fickle  once  and  changing, 

Nor  e'er  would  settle  in  my  heart; 
From  beauty  still  to  beauty  ranging. 

In  ev'rj'  face  1  found  a  dart. 

'Twas  first  a  charming  shape  enslaved  me, 

An  eye  that  gave  the  fatal  stroke : 
Till  by  her  wit  Corinna  saved  me, 

And  all  my  former  fetters  broke. 

But  now  a  long  and  lasting  anguish 

For  Belvidera  I  endure ; 
Hourly  I  sigh,  and  hourly  languish, 

Nor  hope  to  find  the  wonted  cure. 

For  here  the  false  unconstant  lover, 

After  a  thousand  beauties  shown, 
Does  new  surprising  charms  discover, 

And  finds  variety  in  one. 

Various  Headings. 

Stanza  the  first^  verse  the  first.     And  changing.] 
The  and  in  some  manuscripts  is  written  thus,  4";  but 


22  srixTATOK.  NO.  470. 

that  in  the  Cotton  library  writes  it  in  three  distinct 
letters. 

Verse  the  second.  Nor  e'er  ivouId.~\  Aldus  reads 
it  ever  would ;  but  as  this  would  hurt  the  metre,  we 
have  restored  it  to  its  genuine  reading,  by  observ- 
ing that  synairesis  whioli  had  been  neglected  by  ig- 
norant transcribers. 

Ibid.  Ill  inij  heart.']  Scaliger  and  others,  on  my 
heart. 

Verse  the  fourth.  I  found  a  dart.]  The  Vatican 
manuscript  for  /reads  it ;  but  this  must  have  been 
the  haUucination  of  the  transcriber,  who  probably 
mistook  the  dash  of  the  /for  a  T. 

Stanza  the  second,  verse  the  second.  Tlie  fatal 
strohe.~\  Scioppius,  Salmasius,  and  many  others,  for 
the  read  a  ;  but  I  have  stuck  to  the  usual  reading. 

Verse  the  third.  Till  by  her  wit.]  Some  manu- 
sciipts  have  it  his  wit,  others  your,  others  their  wit. 
But  as  I  find  Corinna  to  be  the  name  of  a  woman 
in  other  authors,  1  cannot  doubt  but  it  should  be 
her. 

Stanza  the  third,  verse  the  first.  A  long  and 
lasting  anguish.]  The  German  manuscript  reads 
a  lasting  passion,  but  the  rhyme  will  not  admit  it. 

Verse  the  second.  F'or  Belvidera  I  endure.]  Did 
not  all  the  manuscripts  reclaim,  I  should  change 
Belvidera  into  Pelvidera :  Pelvis  being  used  by  se- 
veral of  the  ancient  comic  writers  for  a  looking- 
glass,  by  which  means  the  etymology  of  the  word 
is  very  visible,  and  Pelvidera  will  signify  a  lady 
who  often  looks  in  her  glass ;  as  indeed  she  had 
very  guod  reason,  if  she  had  all  those  beauties 
which  our  poet  here  ascribes  to  her. 

Verse  the  third.  Hourly  I  sigh,  and  hourly  Ian- 
guisli.]  Some  for  the  word  hourly  read  daily,  and 
others  nightly  ;  the  last  has  great  authoiuties  of  its 
side. 


NO.    470.  SPKCTATOK.  23 

Verse  the  fourth.  The  loonted  cure.'\  The  elder 
Stevens  reads  wanted  cure. 

Stanza  the  fourth,  verse  the  second.  After  a  thou- 
sand beauties.~\  In  several  copies  we  meet  with  a 
hundred  beauties,  by  the  usual  error  of  the  tran- 
scribers, who  probably  omitted  a  cipher,  and  had 
not  taste  enough  to  know  that  the  woi"d  thousand 
was  ten  times  a  greater  compliment  to  the  poet's 
mistress  than  an  hundred. 

Vei'se  the  fourth.  And  finds  variety  in  one.'\ 
Most  of  the  ancient  manuscripts  have  it  in  two.  In- 
deed, so  many  of  them  concur  in  this  last  reading, 
that  I  am  very  much  in  doubt  whether  it  ought  not 
to  take  place.  There  are  but  two '  reasons,  which 
incline  me  to  the  reading  as  I  have  published  it : 
first  because  the  rhyme,  and  secondly  because  the 
sense,  is  preserved  by  it.  It  might  likewise  proceed 
from  the  oscitancy  of  transcribers,  who,  to  despatch 
their  work  the  sooner,  used  to  write  all  numbers  in 
cipher,  and  seeing  the  figure  1  followed  by  a  little 
dash  of  the  pen,  as  is  customary  in  old  manuscripts, 
they  perhaps  mistook  the  dash  for  a  second  figure, 
and,  by  casting  up  both  together,  composed  out  of 
them  the  figure  2.  But  this  I  shall  leave  to  the 
learned  without  determining  any  thing  in  a  matter 
of  so  great  uncertainty. 

C 


24  SPKCTATOR.  NO.   471. 


No.  471.     SATURDAY,  AUGUST  30,  1712. 


'Ev  iXnimv  xpn  i^ouf  ao(povg  exciv  (iiov. 

EURIPID. 

The  wise  with  hope  support  the  pains  of  life. 

The  time  present  seldom  aflbrds  sufficient  em- 
ployment to  the  mind  of  man.  Objects  of  pain  or 
pleasure,  love  or  admiration,  do  not  lie  thick  enough 
together  in  life  to  keep  the  soul  in  constant  action, 
and  supply  an  immediate  exercise  to  its  faculties. 
In  order,  therefore,  to  remedy  this  defect,  that  the 
mind  may  not  want  business,  but  always  have  ma- 
terials for  thinking,  she  is  endowed  with  certain 
powers,  that  can  recall  what  is  passed,  and  antici- 
pate what  is  to  come. 

That  wonderful  faculty,  which  we  call  the  me- 
mory, is  perpetually  looking  back,  when  we  have 
nothing  present  to  entertain  us.  It  is  like  those 
repositories  in  several  animals  that  are  filled  with 
stores  of  their  former  food,  on  which  they  may  ru- 
minate w'hen  their  present  pasture  fails. 

As  the  memory  relieves  the  mind  in  her  vacant 
moments,  and  prevents  any  chasms  of  thought  by 
ideas  uf  wiiat  is  passed,  we  have  other  faculties  that 
agitate  and  employ  her  for  what  is  to  come.  These 
are  tlie  passions  of  hope  and  fear. 

By  these  two  passions  we  reach  forward  into 
futurity,  and  bring  up  to  our  present  thoughts  ob- 
jects that  lie  hid  in  the  remotest  depths  of  time. 


NO.    471.  SPECTATOR.  25 

We  suffer  misery  and  enjoy  happiness,  before  they 
are  in  being  ;  we  can  set  the  sun  and  stai's  forward, 
or  lose  sight  of  them  by  wandering  into  those  retir- 
ed parts  of  eternity,  when  the  heavens  and  earth 
shall  be  no  more. 

By  the  way,  who  can  imagine  that  the  existence 
of  a  creature  is  to  be  circumscribed  by  time,  whose 
thoughts  are  not  ?  But  I  shall,  in  this  paper,  con- 
fine myself  to  that  particular  passion  which  goes  by 
the  name  of  hope. 

Our  actual  enjoyments  are  so  few  and  transient, 
that  man  would  be  a  very  miserable  being,  were  he 
not  endowed  with  this  passion,  which  gives  him  a 
taste  of  those  good  things  that  may  possibly  come 
into  his  possession.  '  We  should  hope  for  every 
thing  that  is  good,'  says  the  old  poet  Linus,  '  be- 
cause there  is  nothing  which  may  not  be  hoped  for, 
and  nothing  but  what  the  gods  are  able  to  give  us.' 
Hope  quickens  all  the  still  parts  of  life,  and  keeps 
the  mind  awake  in  her  most  remiss  and  indolent 
hours.  It  gives  habitual  serenity  and  good-humour. 
It  is  a  kind  of  vital  heat  in  the  soul,  that  cheers 
and  gladdens  her,  when  she  does  not  attend  to  it. 
It  makes  pain  easy,  and  labour  pleasant. 

Beside  these  several  advantages  which  rise  from 
hope,  there  is  another  which  is  none  of  the  least, 
and  that  is,  its  great  efficacy  in  preserving  us  from 
setting  too  high  a  value  on  present  enjoyments. 
The  saying  of  Caesar  is  very  well  known.  When 
he  had  given  away  all  his  estate  in  gratuities 
amongst  his  friends,  one  of  them  asked  what  he 
had  left  for  himself;  to  which  that  great  man  re- 
plied, '  Hope.'  His  natural  magnanimity  hindered 
him  from  prizing  what  he  was  certainly  possessed 
of,  and  turned  all  his  thoughts  upon  something  more 
valuable  that  he  had  in  view.     I  question  not  but 


20  SPKCTATOR.  NO.    4:i. 

every  reader  will  druw  a  moral  from  this  story,  and 
apply  it  to  himself  without  my  direction. 

Tlie  old  story  of  Pandora's  box,  which  many  of 
the  learned  believe  was  formed  among  the  heathens 
upon  the  tradition  of  the  fall  of  man,  shows  us  how 
deplorable  a  state  they  thought  the  present  life, 
without  hope.  To  set  forth  the  utmost  condition  of 
misery,  they  tell  us,  that  our  forefather,  according 
to  the  pagan  theology,  had  a  great  vessel  presented 
him  by  Pandora.  Upon  his  lifting  up  the  lid  of  it, 
says  tiie  fable,  there  flew  out  all  the  calamities  and 
distempers  incident  to  men,  from  which,  till  that 
time,  they  had  been  altogether  exempt.  Hope,  who 
had  been  inclosed  in  the  cup  with  so  much  bad 
company,  instead  of  flying  otf  with  the  rest,  stuck 
so  close  to  the  lid  of  it,  that  it  was  shut  down  npon  her. 

I  shall  make  but  two  reflections  upon  what  I  have 
hitherto  said.  First,  that  no  kind  of  life  is  so  happy 
as  that  which  is  full  of  hope,  especially  when  the 
hope  is  well  grounded,  and  when  the  object  of  it 
is  of  an  exalted  kind,  and  in  its  nature  proper  to 
make  the  person  happy  who  enjoys  it.  This  pro- 
position must  be  very  evident  to  those  who  consider 
how  few  are  the  present  enjoyments  of  the  most 
happy  man,  and  how  insufficient  to  give  him  an  en- 
tire satisfaction  and  acquiescence  in  them. 

My  next  observation  is  this,  that  a  religious  life 
is  that  which  most  abounds  in  a  well-grounded  hope, 
and  such  an  one  as  is  fixed  on  objects  that  are  ca- 
palile  of  making  us  entirely  happy.  This  hope  in 
a  religious  man  is  much  more  sure  and  certain  than 
the  hope  of  any  temporal  blessing,  as  it  is  strength- 
ened not  only  by  reason,  but  by  faith.  It  has  at  the 
same  time  its  eye  per[)etually  fixed  on  that  state, 
which  im[)lies  in  the  very  notion  of  it  the  most  full 
and  the  most  complete  happiness. 


NO.    471.  SPECTATOR.  ^7 

I  have  before  shown  how  the  influence  of  hope 
m  general  sweetens  life,  and  makes  our  present  con- 
dition supportable,  if  not  pleasing ;  but  a  rehgious 
hope  has  still  greater  advantages.  It  does  not  only 
bear  up  the  mind  under  her  sufferings,  but  makes 
her  rejoice  in  them,  as  they  may  be  the  instruments 
of  procuring  her  the  great  and  ultimate  end  of  all 
her  hope. 

Religious  hope  has  likewise  this  advantage  above 
any  other  kind  of  hope,  that  it  is  able  to  revive  the 
dying  man,  and  to  fill  his  mind  not  only  with  secret 
comfort  and  refreshment,  but  sometimes  with  rap- 
ture and  transport.  He  triumphs  in  his  agonies, 
whilst  the  soul  springs  forward  with  delight  to  the 
great  object  which  she  has  always  had  in  view,  and 
leaves  the  body  with  an  expectation  of  being  re- 
united to  her  in  a  glorious  and  joyful  resurrection. 

I  shall  conclude  this  essay  with  those  emphatical 
expressions  of  a  lively  hope,  which  the  psalmist 
made  use  of  in  the  midst  of  those  dangers  and  ad- 
versities which  surrounded  him  ;  for  the  following 
passage  had  its  present  and  personal,  as  well  as  its 
future  and  prophetic  sense.  "  I  have  set  the  Lord 
always  before  me :  because  he  is  at  my  right  hand, 
I  shall  not  be  moved.  Therefore  my  heart  is  glad, 
and  my  glory  rejoiceth :  my  flesh  also  shall  rest  in 
hope.  For  thou  wilt  not  leave  my  soul  in  hell; 
neither  wilt  thou  suffer  thine  Holy  One  to  see  cor- 
ruption. Thou  wilt  show  me  the  path  of  life :  in 
thy  presence  is  fulness  of  joy  ;  at  thy  right  hand 
there  are  pleasures  for  evermore." 

.  C 


28  SPECTATOR.  NO.   472. 


No.  472.     MONDAY,  SEPTEMBER  1,  1712. 


—  Voluptas, 
Solamenque  mali. —  virg.  ^en.  iii.  660. 

This  only  solace  his  hard  fortune  sends.  dkyden. 

I  RECEIVED  some  time  ago  a  proposal,  which  had 
a  preface  to  it,  wherein  the  author  discoursed  at 
hirge  of  the  innumerable  objects  of  charity  in  a  na- 
tion, and  admonished  the  i"ich,  who  were  afflicted 
with  any  distemper  of  body,  particularly  to  regard 
the  poor  in  the  same  species  of  affliction,  and  con- 
fine their  tenderness  to  them,  since  it  is  impossible 
to  assist  all  who  are  presented  to  them.  The  pro- 
jjosei-  had  been  relieved  from  a  malady  in  his  eyes 
by  an  operation  performed  by  vSir  William  Read, 
and,  being  a  man  of  condition,  had  taken  a  resolu- 
tion to  maintain  three  poor  blind  men  during  their 
lives,  in  gratitude  for  that  great  blessing.  This  mis- 
fortune is  so  very  great  and  unfrequent,  that  one 
would  think  an  establishment  for  all  the  poor  under 
it  might  be  easily  accomplished,  with  the  addition 
of  a  very  few  others  to  those  wealthy,  who  are  in 
tlie  same  calamity.  However,  the  thought  of  the 
proposer  arose  from  a  very  good  motive ;  and  the 
parcelling  of  ourselves  out,  as  called  to  particular 
acts  of  beneficence,  would  be  a  pretty  cement  of»so- 
ciety  and  virtue.  It  is  the  ordinary  foundation  for 
men's  holding  a  commerce  with  each  other,  and  be- 
coming familiar,  that  they  agree  in  the  same  sort  of 
{)lea^u^e  ;  and  sure  it  may  also  be  some  reason  for 


NO.    472.  SPECTATOR.  29 

amity,  that  they  are  under  one  common  distress.  If 
all  the  rich  who  are  lame  in  the  gout,  from  a  life  of 
ease,  pleasure,  and  luxury,  would  help  those  few  who 
have  it  without  a  previous  life  of  pleasure,  and  add 
a  few  of  such  laborious  men,  who  are  become  lame 
from  unhappy  blows,  falls,  or  other  accidents  of  age 
or  sickness ;  I  say,  would  such  gouty  persons  ad- 
minister to  the  necessities  of  men  disabled  like 
themselves,  the  consciousness  of  such  a  behaviour 
would  be  the  best  julep,  cordial,  and  anodyne,  in 
the  feverish,  faint,  and  tormenting  vicissitudes  of 
that  miserable  distemper.  The  same  may  be  said 
of  all  other,  both  bodily  and  intellectual  evils. 
These  classes  of  charity  would  certainly  bring  down 
blessings  upon  an  age  and  people  ;  and  if  men  were 
not  petrified  with  the  love  of  this  world,  against  all 
sense  of  the  commerce  which  ought  to  be  among 
them,  it  would  not  be  an  unreasonable  bill  for  a 
poor  man  in  the  agony  of  pain,  aggravated  by  want 
and  poverty,  to  draw  upon  a  sick  alderman  after 
this  form: 

"  MK.   BASIL   PLENTY, 
"  SIR, 

"  You  have  the  gout  and  stone,  with  sixty  thou- 
sand pounds  sterling ;  I  have  the  gout  and  stone, 
not  worth  one  farthing  ;  I  shall  pray  for  you,  and 
desire  you  would  pay  the  bearer  twenty  shillings 
for  value  received  from, 

"  Sir, 
"Your  humble  servant, 

"  Lazarus  Hopeful." 

"  Cripplegate,  August  29,  1712." 

The  reader's  own  imagination  will  suggest  to  him 
.he    reasonableness  of   such    correspondences,  and 


30  SriXTATOU.  NO.    472. 

diversify  thcin  into  a  thousand  forms;  hnt  T  sliall 
close  this,  as  I  began,  upon  the  subject  of  Idind- 
ness.*  The  following  letter  seems  to  be  written  by 
a  man  of  learning,  who  is  returned  to  his  study  after 
a  suspense  of  an  ability  to  do  so.  The  benefit  he 
reports  himself  to  have  received,  may  well  claim 
the  handsomest  encomium  he  can  give  the  operator. 

"  MR.    SPECTATOR, 

"  Ruminating  lately  on  your  a(lmiral)le  discourses 
on  the  Pleasures  of  the  Imagination,  I  began  to  con- 
sider to  which  of  our  senses  we  are  obliged  for  the 
greatest  and  most  important  share  of  those  plea- 
sures ;  and  I  soon  concluded  that  it  was  to  the  sight. 
That  is  the  sovereign  of  the  senses,  and  mother  of 
all  the  arts  and  sciences,  that  have  refined  the  rude- 
ness of  the  uncultivated  mind  to  a  politeness  that 
distinguishes  the  fine  spirits  from  the  barbarous  gout 
of '  the  great  vulgar  and  the  small.'  The  sight  is 
the  obliging  benefactress  that  bestows  on  us  the 
most  transporting  sensations  that  we  have  from  the 
various  and  wonderful  j)roducts  of  nature.  To  the 
sight  we  owe  the  amazing  discoveries  of  the  height, 
magnitude,  and  motion  of  the  planets  ;  their  several 
revolutions  about  their  common  centre  of  light,  heat, 
and  motion,  the  sun.  The  sight  travels  yet  further 
to  the  fi.xed  stars,  and  furnishes  the  undei'standing 
with  solid  reasons  to  prove,  that  each  of  them  is  a 
sun,  moving  on  its  own  axis,  in  the  centre  of  its 
own  vortex  or  turbillion,  and  performing  the  same 
otlices  to  its  dependent  planets  that  our  glorious  sun 
does  to  tins.     But  the  inquiries  of  the  sight  will  not 

♦  A  benevolent  institution  in  favour  of  blind  people,  and 
Swift's  hospital,  seem  to  have  originated  from  this  paper,  cer- 
tainly from  the  principles  of  humanity  stated  in  it. 


NO.   472.  SPECTATOR.  31 

be  stopped  here,  but  make  their  progress  through 
the  immense  expanse  to  the  Milky  Way,  and  there 
divide  the  blended  fires  of  the  galaxy  into  infinite 
and  different  worlds,  made  up  of  distinct  suns,  and 
their  pecuhar  equipages  of  planets,  till,  unable  to 
pursue  this  track  any  further,  it  deputes  the  imagi- 
nation to  go  on  to  new  discoveries,  till  it  fill  the  un- 
bounded space  with  endless  worlds. 

"The  sight  informs  the  statuary's  chisel  with 
power  to  give  breath  to  lifeless  brass  and  marble, 
and  the  painter's  pencil  to  swell  the  flat  canvas 
with  moving  figures  actuated  by  imaginary  souls. 
Music  indeed  may  plead  another  original,*  since 
Jubal,  by  the  different  falls  of  his  hammer  on  the 
anvil,  discovered  by  the  ear  the  first  rude  music 
that  pleased  the  antediluvian  fathers  ;  but  then  the 
sight  has  not  only  reduced  those  wilder  sounds  into 
artful  order  and  harmony,  but  conveys  that  har- 
mony to  the  most  distant  parts  of  the  world  without 
the  help  of  sound.  To  the  sight  we  owe  not  only 
all  the  discoveries  of  philosophy,  but  all  the  divine 
imagery  of  poetry  that  transports  the  intelligent 
reader  of  Homer,  Milton,  and  Virgil. 

"  As  the  sight  has  polished  the  world,  so  does  it 
supply  us  with  the  most  grateful  and  lastiug  plea- 
sure. Let  love,  let  friendship,  paternal  affection, 
filial  piety,  and  conjugal  duty,  declare  the  joys  the 
sight  bestows  on  a  meeting  after  absence.  But  it 
would  be  endless  to  enumerate  all  the  pleasures  and 
advantages  of  sight ;  every  one  that  has  it,  every 
hour  he  makes  use  of  it,  finds  them,  feels  them, 
enjoys  them. 

"  Thus,  as  our  greatest  pleasures  and  knowledge 
are  derived  from  the  sight,  so  has  Providence  been 

*  Mr.  Weaver  ascribes  the  discovery  to  Pythagoras. 


32  SPECTATOR.  NO.    472. 

more  curious  in  the  formation  of  its  scat,  the  eye, 
than  of  the  organs  of  the  other  senses.  That  stu- 
pendous niacliine  is  composed,  in  a  wonderful  man- 
nes,  of  musch^s,  membranes,  and  humours.  Its  mo- 
tions are  admirably  directed  by  the  muscles  ;  the 
perspicuity  of  the  humour  transmits  the  rays  of 
light  ;  the  rays  are  regularly  refracted  by  their 
figure  ;  the  black  lining  of  the  sclerotes  effectually 
prevents  their  being  confounded  by  reflection.  It 
is  wondeiful  indeed  to  consider  how  many  objects 
the  eye  is  fitted  to  take  in  at  once,  and  successively 
in  an  instant,  and  at  the  same  time,  to  make  a  judg- 
ment of  their  position,  figure,  and  colour.  It  watches 
against  our  dangers,  guides  our  steps,  and  lets  in  all 
the  visible  objects,  whose  beauty  and  variety  in- 
struct and  delight. 

"  The  pleasures  and  advantages  of  sight  being  so 
great,  the  loss  must  be  very  grievous  ;  of  which 
Milton,  from  experience,  gives  the  most  sensible 
idea,  both  in  the  third  book  of  his  Paradise  Lost, 
and  in  his  Samson  Agonistes. 

"  To  light,  in  the  former. 

Thee  I  revisit  safe, 
And  feel  thy  sovereign  vital  lamp;  but  thou 
IJevisit'st  not  these  eyes,  that  roll  in  vain 
To  find  thy  piercing  ray,  but  find  no  dawn.  iii.  21. 

"  And  a  little  after. 

Seasons  return,  but  not  to  me  returns 

Day,  or  the  sweet  approach  of  ev'n  or  mom, 

Or  sight  of  vernal  bloom,  or  summer's  rose. 

Or  flocks  or  herds,  or  human  face  divine; 

But  cloud  instead,  and  ever-during  dark. 

Surround  me :  from  the  cheerful  ways  of  men 

Cut  oil",  and  for  the  book  of  knowledge  fair. 

Presented  with  an  universal  blank 

Of  nature's  works,  to  me  expunged  and  razed. 

And  wisdom  at  one  entrance  quite  shut  out.  ib.  41. 


NO.    472.  SPECTATOR.  33 

"  Again  in  Samson  Agonistes. 

— But  chief  of  all, 
0  loss  of  sight !  of  thee  I  most  complain : 
Blind  among  enemies !     0  worse  than  chains, 
Dungeon,  or  beggary,  or  decrepit  age ! 
Light,  the  prime  work  of  God,  to  me's  extinct, 
And  all  her  various  objects  of  delight 
Annuil'd. —  66. 

— Still  as  a  fool, 
In  power  of  others,  never  in  my  own, 
Scarce  half  I  seem  to  live,  dead  more  than  half: 
0  dark !  dark !  dark !  amid  the  blaze  of  noon : 
Irrecoverably  dark,  total  eclipse. 
Without  all  hopes  of  day. —  77. 

"  The  enjoyment  of  sight  then  being  so  great  a 
blessing,  and  the  loss  of  it  so  terrible  an  evil,  how 
excellent  and  valuable  is  the  skill  of  that  artist 
which  can  restore  the  former,  and  redress  the  latter  ! 
My  frequent  perusal  of  the  advertisements  in  the 
public  newspapers,  generally  the  most  agreeable 
entertainment  they  afford,  has  presented  me  with 
many  and  various  benefits  of  this  kind  done  to  my 
countrymen  by  that  skilful  artist  Dr.  Grant,  her 
Majesty's  oculist  extraordinary,  whose  happy  hand 
has  brought  and  restored  to  sight  several  hundreds 
in  less  than  four  years.  Many  have  received  sight 
by  his  means  who  came  blind  ft-om  their  mother's 
womb,  as  in  the  famous  instance  of  Jones  of  New- 
ington.*  I  myself  have  been  cured  by  him  of  a 
weakness  in  my  eyes  next  to  blindness,  and  am 
ready  to  believe  auy  thing  that  is  reported  of  liis 
ability  this  way  ;  and  know  that  many,  who  could 
not   purchase   his  assistance  with  money,  have  en- 

*  This  ostentatious  oculist  was,  it  seems,  originally  a  cobler 
or  tinker,  afterwards  a  preacher  in  a  congregation  of  Baptists. 
William  Jones  was  not  born  blind,  and  was  but  very  littlg,  if  at 
all,  benefited  by  Grant's  operation,  who  appears  to  have  been 
guilty  of  great  fraud  and  downright  forgery  in  his  account  and 
advertisements  of  this  pretended  cure. 
VOL.    XL  3 


34  SPKCTATOll.  NO.   473. 

joyed  it  from  his  ciuirity.  But  a  list  of  particulars 
would  swell  my  letter  beyond  its  bounds;  what  I 
have  said  being  suificient  to  comfort  tliose  who  are 
in  the  like  distress,  since  they  may  conceive  hopes 
of  being  no  longer  miserable  in  this  kind,  while 
there  is  yet  alive  so  able  an  oculist  as  Dr.  Grant. 
"  I  am  the  Spectator's 

"  humble  servant, 
T  "  Philanthuopus." 


No.  473.     TUESDAY,  SEPTEMBER  2,  1712. 


Qiiiflf  si  quis  I'uUu  torfo  ferns,  ei  pede  nudo, 
ExiijuoBque  tiir/ce  simulet  texlore  Catonem  ; 
Virluttmne  rcprctstiiid  rnwesqut  Catonis? 

HOE.  EPIST.  i.  19.  12. 

Suppose  a  man  the  coarsest  gown  should  wear, 

No  shoes,  his  forehead  rough,  his  looli  severe, 

And  ape  great  Cato  in  his  form  and  dress ; 

Must  he  his  virtues  and  his  mind  express?       creech. 

"  TO    THE   SPECTATOR. 
"  SIK, 

"  I  AM  now  in  the  country,  and  employ  most  of 
my  lime  in  reading,  or  thinking  upon  what  I  have 
read.  Your  paper  comes  constantly  down  to  me, 
and  it  affects  me  so  much,  that  I  find  my  thoughts 
run  into  your  way ;  and  1  recommend  to  you  a  sub- 
ject upon  which  you  have  not  yet  touched,  and  that 
is,  the  satisfaction  some  men  seem  to  take  in  their 
imperfections;  I  think  one  may  call  it  glorying  in 


NO.    473.  SPECTATOR.  35 

their  insufficiency.  A  certain  great  author  is  of 
opinion  it  is  the  contrary  to  envy,  though  perhaps 
it  may  proceed  from  it.  Nothing  is  so  common  as 
to  hear  men  of  this  sort,  speaking  of  themselves,  add 
to  their  own  merit,  as  they  think,  by  impairing  it, 
in  praising  themselves  for  their  defects,  freely  allow- 
ing they  commit  some  few  frivolous  errors,  in  order  to 
be  esteemed  persons  of  uncommon  talents  and  great 
qualifications.  They  are  generally  professing  an  in- 
judicious neglect  of  dancing,  fencing,  and  riding,  as 
also  an  unjust  contempt  for  travelling,  and  the  mo- 
dern languages  ;  as  for  their  part,  say  they,  they 
never  valued  or  troubled  their  heads  about  them. 
This  panegyrical  satire  on  themselves  certainly  is 
worthy  of  your  animadversion.  I  have  known  one 
of  these  gentlemen  think  himself  obliged  to  forget 
the  day  of  an  appointment,  and  sometimes  even  that 
you  spoke  to  him ;  and  when  you  see  them,  they 
hope  you'll  pardon  them,  for  they  have  the  worst 
memory  in  the  world.  One  of  them  started  up  the 
other  day  in  some  confusion  and  said,  '  Now  I  think 
on't,  I  am  to  meet  Mr.  Mortmain,  the  attorney, 
about  some  business,  but  whether  it  is  to-day  or  to- 
morrow, 'faith  I  cannot  tell.'  Now,  to  my  certain 
knowledge,  he  knew  his  time  to  a  moment,  and  was 
there  accordingly.  These  forgetful  persons  have, 
to  heighten  their  crime,  generally  the  best  memories 
of  any  people,  as  I  have  found  out  by  their  remem- 
bering sometimes  through  inadvertency.  Two  or 
three  of  them  that  I  know  can  say  most  of  our  mo- 
dern tragedies  by  heart.  I  asked  a  gentleman  the 
other  day  that  is  famous  for  a  good  carver,  at  which 
acquisition  he  is  out  of  countenance,  imagining  it 
may  detract  from  some  of  his  more  essential  quali- 
fications, to  help  me  to  something  that  was  near  him  ; 
but  he  excused  himself,  and  blushing  told  me,  '  Of 


36  SPECTATOR.  NO.    473. 

all  things  he  could  never  carve  in  his  life ; '  though 
it  can  be  proved  upon  him  that  he  cuts  up,  disjoints, 
and  uncases  with  incomparable  dexterity.  I  would 
not  be  understood  as  if  I  thought  it  laudable  for  a 
man  of  quality  and  fortune  to  rival  the  acquisitions 
of  artificers,  and  endeavour  to  excel  in  little  handy 
qualities  ;  no,  I  argue  only  against  being  ashamed 
at  what  is  really  praiseworthy.  As  these  pretences 
to  ingenuity  show  themselves  several  ways,  you  will 
often  see  a  man  of  this  temper  ashamed  to  be  clean, 
and  setting  up  for  wit,  only  from  negligence  in  his 
habit.  Now  I  am  upon  this  head,  I  cannot  help 
observing  also  upon  a  very  different  folly  proceed- 
ing from  the  same  cause.  As  these  above-mentioned 
arise  from  affecting  an  equality  with  men  of  greater 
talents,  from  having  the  same  faults,  there  are  others 
who  would  come  at  a  parallel  with  those  above  them, 
by  possessing  little  advantages  which  they  want.  I 
heard  a  young  man  not  long  ago,  who  has  sense, 
comfort  himself  in  his  ignorance  of  Greek,  Hebrew, 
and  the  Orientals  ;  at  the  same  time  that  he  pub- 
lished his  aversion  to  these  languages,  he  said  that 
the  knowledge  of  them  was  rather  a  diminution 
than  an  advancement  of  a  man's  character  ;  though 
at  the  same  time  I  know  he  languishes  and  repines 
he  is  not  master  of  them  himself.  Whenever  I  take 
any  of  these  fine  persons  thus  detracting  from  what 
they  do  not  understand,  I  tell  them  I  will  complain 
to  you  ;  and  say  I  am  sure  you  will  not  allow  it  an 
exception  against  a  thing,  that  he  who  contemns  it 
is  an  ignorant  in  it. 

"  I  am.  Sir, 
"  Your  most  humble  servant, 

« s.  p." 


NO.    473.  SPECTATOR.  37 


"MR.   SPECTATOR, 

"  I  am  a  man  of  a  very  good  estate,  and  am  ho- 
nourably in  love.  I  hope  you  will  allow,  when  the  ulti- 
mate purpose  is  honest,  there  may  be,  without  trespass 
against  innocence,  some  toying  by  the  way.  People 
of  condition  are  perhaps  too  distant  and  foi'mal  on 
those  occasions ;  but  however  that  is,  I  am  to  con- 
fess to  you.  that  I  have  writ  some  verses  to  atone 
for  ray  offence.  You  professed  authors  are  a  little 
severe  upon  us,  who  write  like  gentlemen ;  but  if 
you  are  a  friend  to  love,  you  will  insert  my  poem. 
You  cannot  imagine  how  much  service  it  will  do 
me  with  my  fair  one,  as  well  as  reputation  with  all 
my  friends,  to  have  something  of  mine  in  the  Spec- 
tator. My  crime  was,  that  I  snatched  a  kiss,  and 
my  poetical  excuse  is  as  follows : 


Belinda,  see  from  yondei"  flowers 
The  bee  flies  loaded  to  its  cell : 

Can  you  perceive  what  it  devours? 
Are  they  impair'd  in  show  or  smell? 


So,  though  I  robbed  you  of  a  kiss, 
Sweeter  than  their  ambrosial  dew: 

Why  are  you  angry  at  my  bliss  ? 
Has  it  at  aU  impoverish' d  you? 


'Tis  by  this  cunning  I  conti'ive, 

In  spite  of  your  unkind  reserve, 
To  keep  my  famish'd  love  alive, 

Which  you  inhumanly  would  starve. 

"  I  am,  Sir, 

"  Your  humble  servant, 

"  TiJIOTHT  StAXZA. 


38  SPECTATOR.  NO.  474. 


"  SIR, 

"  Having  a  little  time  upon  my  hands,  I  could 
not  lliink  of  bestowing  it  better,  than  in  writing 
an  epistle  to  the  Spectator,  which  I  now  do,  and 
am,  Sir, 

"  Your  humble  servant, 
"August  23, 1712."  "  Bob  Short. 

"P.  S.  If  you  approve  of  my  style,  Tarn  likely 
enough  to  become  your  correspondent.  I  desire 
your  opinion  of  it.  I  design  it  for  tliat  way  of  writ- 
ing called  by  the  judicious  '  the  familiar.'  " 

T 


No.  474.    WEDNESDAY,  SEPTEMBER  3,  1712. 


Asperiias  arji-esiis,  et  inconcinna. — 

HOR.  EPIST.  i.  18.  6. 

Rude,  rustic,  and  inelesant. 


"  MR.   SPECTATOR, 

"  Being  of  the  number  of  those  that  have  lately 
retired  from  the  centre  of  business  and  pleasure, 
my  uneasiness  in  the  country  where  I  am  arises 
rather  from  the  society  than  the  solitude  of  it.  To 
be  obliged  to  receive  and  return  visits  from  and  to 
a  circle  of  neighbours,  who,  through  diversity  of 
age  or  inclinations,  can  neither  be  entertaining  nor 
serviceable  to  us,  is  a  vile  loss  of  time,  and  a  slavery 


NO.  474.  SPECTATOR.  39 

from  which  a  man  should  deliver  himself,  if  pos- 
sible ;  for  why  must  I  lose  the  remaining  part  of 
my  life  because  they  have  thrown  away  the  former 
jaart  of  theirs  ?  It  is  to  me  an  insupportable  afflic- 
tion, to  be  tormented  with  the  narrations  of  a  set 
of  people,  who  are  w^arm  in  their  expressions  of  the 
quick  relish  of  that  pleasure  which  their  dogs  and 
horses  have  a  more  delicate  taste  of.  I  do  also  in 
my  heart  detest  and  abhor  that  damnable  doctrine 
and  position  of  the  necessity  of  a  bumper,  though  to 
one's  own  toast ;  for  though  it  is  pretended  that  these 
deep  potations  are  used  only  to  inspire  gayety,  they 
certainly  drown  that  cheerfulness  which  would  sur- 
vive a  moderate  circulation.  If  at  these  meetings 
it  were  left  to  every  stranger  either  to  fill  his  glass 
according  to  his  own  inclination,  or  to  make  his  re- 
treat w'hen  he  finds  he  has  been  sufiiciently  obedient 
to  that  of  others,  these  entertainments  would  be 
governed  with  more  good  sense,  and  consequently 
with  more  good  breeding,  than  at  present  they  are. 
Indeed,  where  any  of  the  guests  are  known  to 
measure  their  fame  or  pleasure  by  their  glass,  pro- 
per exhortations  might  be  used  to  these  to  push 
their  fortunes  in  this  sort  of  reputation  ;  but,  where 
it  is  unseasonably  insisted  on  to  a  modest  stranger, 
this  drench  may  be  said  to  be  swallowed  with  the 
same  necessity  as  if  it  had  been  tendered  in  the 
horn  for  that  purpose,*  with  this  aggravating  cir- 
cumstance, that  it  distresses  the  entertainer's  guest 
in  the  same  degree  as  it  relieves  his  horses. 

"  To  attend  without  impatience  an  account  of  five- 
barred  gates,  double  ditches,  and  precipices,  and 
to  survey  the  orator  with  desiring  eyes,  is  to  me  ex- 
tremely  difficult,   but  absolutely  necessary,   to  be 

*  A  horn  is  used  to  administer  potions  to  horses. 


40  SPKCTATOR.  NO.    474. 

upon  tolerable  terms  with  liim  ;  but  then  the  occa- 
sional burstings  out  into  laughter  is  of  all  other  ac- 
coni|>lisliinents  the  most  re(|uisile.  I  confess,  at 
present  I  have  not  that  eomtnand  of  these  convul- 
sions as  is  necessary  to  be  good  company  ;  therefore 
I  beg  you  would  publish  this  letter,  and  let  me  be 
known  all  at  once  for  a  queer  fellow,  and  avoided. 
It  is  monstrous  to  me,  that  we  who  are  given  to 
reading  and  cahn  conversation  should  ever  be  visit- 
ed l)y  these  roarers;  but  tiiey  think  they  them- 
selves, as  neighbours,  may  come  into  our  rooms  with 
the  same  right  tiiat  they  and  their  dogs  hunt  in  our 
grounds. 

"  Your  institution  of  clubs  I  have  always  admired, 
in  which  you  constantly  endeavoured  the  union  of 
the  metaphorically  defunct,  that  is,  such  as  are  nei- 
ther serviceable  to  the  busy  and  enterprising  part 
of  mankind,  nor  entertaining  to  the  retired  and  spe- 
culative. There  should  certainly  therefore  in  each 
county  be  established  a  club  of  the  persons  whose 
conversations  1  Iiave  de-scribed,  who  for  their  own 
private,  as  also  the  public  emolument,  shoidd  ex- 
clude, and  be  excluded,  all  otlier  society.  Their 
attire  should  be  the  same  with  their  huntsmen's,  and 
none  should  be  admitted  into  this  green  conversa- 
tion-piece, except  lie  iiad  l)roke  his  colhir-bone  thrice. 
A  broken  rib  or  two  miglit  also  admit  a  man  with- 
out the  least  opposition.  The  president  must  neces- 
sarily have  broken  his  neck,  and  have  been  taken 
up  dead  once  or  twice;  for  tiie  more  maims  this 
brotherhood  shall  have  met  with,  the  easier  will 
their  conversation  How  and  keep  up  ;  and  when  any 
one  of  tliese  vigorous  invalids  had  linisiied  iiis  nar- 
ration of  the  collar-bone,  this  naturally  would  intro- 
duce the  history  of  the  ribs.  Besides,  the  different 
circumstances  of  their  falls  and  fractures  would  help 


NO.    474.  SPECTATOR.  41 

to  prolong  and  diversify  their  relations.  There 
should  also  be  another  club  of  such  men,  who  have 
not  succeeded  so  well  in  maiming  themselves,  but 
are  however  in  the  constant  pursuit  of  these  accom- 
plishments. I  would  by  no  means  be  suspected,  by 
what  I  have  said,  to  traduce  in  general  the  body  of 
fox-hunters  ;  for  whilst  I  look  upon  a  reasonable 
creature  full  speed  after  a  pack  of  dogs  by  way  of 
pleasure,  and  not  of  business,  I  shall  always  make 
honourable  mention  of  it. 

"  But  the  most  irksome  conversation  of  all  others 
I  have  met  with  in  the  neigbourhood,  has  been 
among  two  or  three  of  your  travellers  who  have 
overlooked  men  and  manners,  and  have  passed 
through  France  and  Italy  with  the  same  observa- 
tion that  the  carriers  and  stage  coachmen  do  through 
Great  Britain  ;  that  is,  their  stops  and  stages  have 
been  regulated  according  to  the  liquor  they  have  met 
with  in  their  passage.  They  indeed  remember  the 
names  of  abundance  of  places,  with  the  particular 
fineries  of  certain  churches  ;  but  their  distinguishing 
mark  is  certain  prettiness  of  foreign  languages,  the 
meaning  of  which  they  could  have  better  expressed 
in  their  own.  The  entertainment  of  these  fine  ob- 
servers Shakspeare  has  described  to  consist 

In  talking  of  the  Alps  and  Apennines, 
The  Pyreneau,  and  the  River  Po: 

and  then  concludes  with  a  sigh, 

Now  this  is  worshipful  society ! 

"  I  would  not  be  thought  in  all  this  to  hate  such 
honest  creatures  as  dogs  ;  I  am  only  unhappy  that  I 
cannot  partake  in  their  diversions.  But  1  love  them 
so  well,  as  dogs,  that  I  often  go  with  my  pockets 
stuffed  with  bread  to  dispense  my  favours,  or  make 


42  SIMCCTATOR.  NO.    474. 

my  way  through  them  at  neighbours'  houses.  There 
is  ill  particuhir  a  young  liound  of  great  expectation, 
vivacity,  and  enterprise,  that  attends  my  flights 
wherever  lie  spies  me.  Tliis  creature  observes  my 
countenance,  and  beliaves  himself"  accordingly.  His 
mirth,  his  frolic,  and  joy,  upon  the  sight  of  me  lias 
been  observed,  and  I  have  been  gravely  desired  not 
to  encourage  him  so  much,  for  it  spoils  his  purts  ; 
but  I  think  he  shows  them  sufficiently  in  the  several 
boundings,  friskings,  and  scourings,  when  he  makes 
his  court  to  me  ;  but  I  foresee  in  a  little  time  he  and 
I  must  keep  company  with  one  another  only,  for  we 
are  fit  for  no  other  in  these  parts.  Having  informed 
you  how  I  do  pass  my  time  in  the  country  where  I 
am,  I  must  proceed  to  tell  you  how  I  would  pass  it, 
had  I  such  a  fortune  as  would  put  me  above  the 
observance  of  ceremony  and  custom. 

"  My  scheme  of  a  country  life  then  should  be  as 
follows  :  As  I  am  happy  in  three  or  four  very  agree- 
able friends,  these  I  would  constantly  have  with 
me ;  and  the  freedom  we  took  witii  one  another  at 
school  and  the  university,  we  would  maintain  and 
exert  upon  all  occasions  with  great  courage.  There 
should  lie  certain  hours  of  the  day  to  be  emjiloyed 
in  reading,  during  which  time  it  should  be  impos- 
sible for  any  one  of  us  to  enter  the  other's  chamber, 
unless  by  storm.  After  this  we  would  communicate 
the  trash  or  treasure  we  had  met  with,  with  our 
own  reflections  upon  the  matter ;  the  justness  of 
which  we  would  controvert  with  good-humoured 
warmth,  and  never  spare  one  another  out  of  that 
complaisant  spirit  of  conversation,  which  makes 
others  affirm  and  deny  the  same  matter  in  a  quarter 
of  an  hour.  If  any  of  the  neighbouring  gentlemen, 
not  of  our  turn,  should  take  it  in  their  heads  to  visit 
me,  I  should  look  upon  these  persons  in  the  same 


NO.    474. 


SPECTATOR.  43 


degree  enemies  to  my  particular  state  of  happiness, 
as  ever  tlie  Frencli  were  to  that  of  the  pubUc,  and 
I  would  be  at  an  annual  expense  in  spies  to  observe 
their  motions.  Whenever  I  should  be  surprised 
with  a  visit,  as  I  hate  drinking,  I  would  be  brisk  in 
swiUing  bumpers,  upon  this  maxim,  that  it  is  better 
to  trouble  others  with  my  impertinence,  than  to  be 
troubled  myself  with  theirs.  The  necessity  of  an 
infirmary  makes  me  resolve  to  fall  into  that  project ; 
and  as  we  should  be  but  five,  the  terrors  of  an  in- 
voluntary separation,  which  our  number  cannot  so 
well  admit  of,  would  make  us  exert  ourselves  in  op- 
position to  all  the  particulars  mentioned  in  your  in- 
stitution of  that  equitable  confinement.  This  my 
way  of  life  I  know  would  subject  me  to  the  imputa- 
tion of  a  morose,  covetous,  and  singular  fellow. 
These  and  all  other  hard  words,  Avith  all  manner 
of  insipid  jests,  and  all  other  reproach,  would  be 
matter  of  mirth  to  me  and  my  friends ;  besides,  I 
would  destroy  the  application  of  the  epithets  morose 
and  covetous,  by  a  yeai'ly  relief  of  my  undeservedly 
necessitous  neighbours,  and  by  treating  my  friends 
and  domestics  with  a  humanity  that  should  express 
the  obligation  to  lie  rather  on  my  side  ;  and  as 
for  the  word  singular,  I  was  always  of  opinion 
every  man  must  be  so,  to  be  what  one  would  de- 
sire him. 

"  Your  very  humble  servant, 

"J.  R."* 

*  This  letter  was  probably  Avritten  by  Steele's  fellow  colle- 
gian and  friend,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Richard  Parker.  This  accom- 
plished scholar  was  for  many  years  vicar  of  Embleton,  in  Nor- 
thumberland, a  living  in  the  gift  of  Mertoii  coUeo-e,  where  he  and 
Steele  lived  in  the  most  cordial  familiarity.  Not  relishing  the 
rural  sports  of  Bamboroughshirc,  he  declined  the  interchange  of 
visits  with  most  of  the  hospitable  gentlemen  in  his  neighbour- 
hood: who,  invigorated  bv  their  diversions,  indulged  in  copious 


44  Sl'ECTATOK.  NO.   474. 

"  MR.    SPECTATOR, 

"  About  two  years  ago  I  was  called  upon  by  the 
younger  part  of  a  country  family,  by  my  mother's 
side  related  to  me,  to  visit  Mr.  Campbel,*  the  dumb 
man  ;  for  they  told  me  that  that  was  cliieHy  what 
brought  them  to  town,  having  heard  wonders  of  him 
in  Essex.  I,  who  always  wanted  faith  in  matters 
of  that  kind,  was  not  easily  prevailed  on  to  go  ;  but, 
lest  tliey  should  take  it  ill,  I  went  with  them  :  when, 
to  my  surprise,  Mr.  Campbel  related  all  their  past 
life  ;  in  short,  had  he  not  been  prevented,  such  a 
discovery  would  have  come  out  as  would  have 
ruined  the  next  design  of  their  coming  to  town,  viz. 

buying  wedding  clothes.     Our  names though  he 

never  heard  of  us  before and  we  endeavoured 

to  conceal were  as  familiar  to  hira  as  to  our- 
selves. To  be  sure,  Mr.  Spectator,  he  is  a  very 
learned  and  wise  man.  Being  impatient  to  know 
my  fortune,  having  paid  my  respects  in  a  family 
Jacobus,  he  told  me,  after  his  manner,  among  se- 
veral other  things,  that  in  a  year  and  nine  months 
I  should  fall  ill  of  a  new  fever,  be  given  over  by 
my  physicians,  but  should  with  much  dilficulty  re- 
cover; that,  the  first  time  I  took  the  air  afterwards, 
I  should  be  addressed  to  by  a  young  gentleman  of 
a  plentiful  fortune,  good  sense,  and  a  generous  spirit. 
Mr.  Spectator,  he  is  the  jjurest  man  in  the  world, 
for  all  he  said  is  come  to  pass,  and  I  am  the  hap- 
piest she  in  Kent.     I   have  been   in  (juest  of  Mr. 

meals,  and  were  apt  to  be  vociferous  in  their  mirth,  and  over 
importunate  with  their  guests,  to  join  in  their  conviviality. 

*  Duncan  Campbel  announced  himself  to  the  i)ul)lic  as  a 
Scotch  liii;hlatuler,  gifted  with  the  second  sight.  He  was,  or 
pretended  to  be,  deal  and  dumb,  and  succeeded  in  makinj;a  for- 
tune to  himself,  by  practising  for  some  years  on  the  credulity 
of  the  vulgar  in  the  ignominious  character  of  a  fortmie-teller. 


NO.    475.  SPECTATOR.  45 

Campbel  these  three  months,  and  cannot  find  him 
out.  Now,  hearing  you  are  a  dumb  man  too,  I 
thought  you  might  correspond,  and  be  able  to  tell  me 
something;  for  I  think  myself  highly  obliged  to 
make  his  fortune,  as  he  has  mine.  It  is  very  pos- 
sible your  worship,  who  has  spies  all  over  this  town, 
can  inform  me  how  to  send  to  him.  If  you  can,  I 
beseech  you  be  as  speedy  as  possible,  and  you  will 
highly  oblige 

"  Your  constant  reader  and  admirer, 

"  DULCIBELLA  ThANKLEY." 

Ordered,  That  the  inspector  I  employ  about  won- 
ders inquire  at  the  Golden-Lion,  opposite  to  the 
Half-Moon  tavern  in  Drury-lane,  into  the  merits  of 
this  silent  sage,  and  report  accordingly. 

T 


No,  475.     THURSDAY,  SEPTEMBER  4,  1712. 


—  QiuB  res  in  se  neque  consilium  neque  modum 
Habet  ullum,  earn  consilio  regere  non  poles. 

TEE.    EUN.   ACT.   i.    SO.    1.    12. 

• 

The  thing  that  in  itself  has  neither  measure  nor  consideration, 
counsel  cannot  rule. 

It  is  an  old  observation,  which  has  been  made  of 
politicians  who  would  rather  ingratiate  themselves 
with  their  sovei'eign  than  promote  his  real  service, 
that  they  accommodate  their  counsels  to  his  inclina- 
tions, and  advise   him  to  such  actions  only  as  his 


46  SPECTATOK.  NO.   475. 

heart  is  natiiniUy  set  upon.  The  privy  counsellor 
of  one  ill  love  must  observe  the  same  conduct,  un- 
less he  would  forfeit  the  friendship  of  the  person 
who  desires  his  advice.  I  have  known  several  odd 
cases  of  this  nature.  Ilipparclms  was  going  to 
marry  a  common  woman,  but  being  resolved  to  do 
nothing  without  the  advice  of  his  friend  Piiihmder, 
he  consulted  him  upon  the  occasion.  Philander  told 
him  his  mind  freely,  and  represented  his  mistress  to 
him  in  such  strong  colours,  that  the  next  morning 
he  received  a  challenge  for  his  pains,  and  before 
twelve  o'clock  was  run  thi-ough  the  body  by  the  man 
who  had  asked  his  advice.  Celia  was  more  prudent 
on  the  like  occasion.  She  desired  Leonilla  to  give 
her  opinion  freely  upon  the  young  fellow  who  made 
his  addresses  to  her.  Leonilla,  to  oblige  her,  told 
her  with  great  frankness,  that  she  looked  upon  him 

as  one  of   the   most  worthless Celia,  forseeing 

what  a  character  she  was  to  expect,  begged  her  not 
to  go  on,  for  that  she  had  been  privately  married  to 
him  above  a  fortnight.  The  truth  of  it  is,  a  woman 
seldom  asks  advice  before  she  has  bought  her  wed- 
ding clothes.  When  she  has  made  her  own  choice, 
for  "^form's  sake  she  sends  a  conge  d'elire  to  her 
friends. 

If  we  look  into  the  secret  springs  and  motives  that 
set  people  at  work  on  these  occasions,  and  put  them 
upon  asking  advice  which  they  never  intend  to  take  ; 
I  look  upon  it  to  be  none* of  the  least,  that  they  are 
incapable  of  keeping  a  secret  which  is  so  very 
pleasing  to  them.  A  girl  longs  to  tell  her  confidante, 
that  she  hopes  to  be  married  in  a  little  time  ;  and, 
in  order  to  talk  of  the  pretty  fellow  that  dwells  so 
much  in  iicr  thoughts,  asks  her  very  gravely,  what 
she  would  advise  her  to  in  a  case  of  so  much  diffi- 
culty.    Wiiy  else   should   Melissa,  who  had  not    a 


NO.   475.  SPECTATOR.  47 

thousand  pounds  in  the  wodd,  go  into  every  quarter 
of  the  town  to  ask  her  acquaintance,  whether  they 
would  advise  her  to  take  Tom  Townly,  that  made 
his  addresses  to  her  with  an  estate  of  five  thousand 
a  year?  It  is  very  pleasant,  on  this  occasion,  to  hear 
the  lady  propose  her  doubts,  and  to  see  the  pains 
she  is  at  to  get  over  them. 

I  must  not  here  omit  a  practice  that  is  in  use 
among  the  vainer  part  of  our  own  sex,  who  will 
often  ask  a  friend's  advice  in  relation  to  a  fortune 
whom  they  are  never  like  to  come  at.  Will  Honey- 
comb, who  is  now  on  the  verge  of  threescore,  took 
me  aside  not  long  since,  and  asked  me  in  his  most 
serious  look,  whether  I  would  advise  him  to  marry 
my  lady  Betty  Single,  who,  by  the  way,  is  one  of 
the  greatest  fortunes  about  town.  I  stared  him  full 
in  the  face  upon  so  strange  a  question  ;  upon  which 
he  immediately  gave  me  an  inventory  of  her  jewels 
and  estate,  adding  that  he  was  resolved  to  do  no- 
thing in  a  matter  of  such  consequence  without  my 
approbation.  Finding  he  would  have  an  answer,  I 
told  him  if  he  could  get  the  lady's  consent,  he  had 
mine.  This  is  about  the  tenth  match  which,  to  my 
knowledge.  Will  has  consulted  his  friends  upon, 
without  ever  opening  his  mind  to  the  party  herself. 

I  have  been  engaged  in  this  subject  by  the  follow- 
ing letter,  which  comes  to  me  from  some  notable 
young  female  scribe,  who,  by  the  contents  of  it, 
seems  to  have  carried  matters  so  far,  that  she  is  ripe 
for  asking  advice  :  but  as  I  would  not  lose  her  good 
will,  nor  forfeit  the  reputation  which  I  have  with 
her  for  wisdom,  I  shall  only  communicate  the  letter 
to  the  public  without  returning  any  answer  to  it. 

"  MR.   SPECTATOR, 

"  Now,  Sir,  tlie  thing  is  this  ;  Mr.  Shapely  is  the 


48  SPECTATOK.  NO.    475. 

prettiest  gentleman  about  town,  lie  is  very  tall, 
but  not  too  tall  neither,  lie  dance.-;  like  an  angel. 
His  mouth  is  made  I  do  not  know  how,  but  it  is 
the  prettiest  that  1  ever  saw  in  my  life,  lie  is  always 
laughing,  tor  he  has  an  infinite  deal  of  wit.  If  you 
did  but  see  how  he  rolls  his  stockings !  He  has  a 
thousand  pretty  fancies,  and  1  am  sure,  if  you  saw 
him,  you  would  like  him.  He  is  a  very  good  scholar, 
and  can  talk  Latin  as  fast  as  English.  I  wish  you 
could  but  see  him  dance.  Now  you  must  under- 
stand poor  jNIr.  Shajicly  has  no  estate ;  but  how  can 
he  hel})  that,  you  know  ?  And  yet  my  friends  are  so 
unreasonable  as  to  be  always  teasing  me  about  him, 
because  he  has  no  estate  ;  but  I  aui  sure  he  has  that 
that  is  better  than  an  estate  ;  for  he  is  a  good-natur- 
ed, ingenious,  modest,  civil,  tall,  well-bred,  hand- 
some man  ;  and  I  am  obliged  to  him  for  his  civili- 
ties ever  since  I  saw  hira.  1  forgot  to  tell  you  that 
he  has  black  eyes,  and  looks  upon  me  now  and  then 
as  if  he  had  tears  in  them.  And  yet  my  friends 
are  so  unreasonable,  that  they  would  have  me  be 
uncivil  to  him.  I  have  a  good  portion  which  they 
cannot  hinder  me  of,  and  1  shall  be  fourteen  on  the 
2yth  day  of  August  next,  and  am  therefore  willing 
to  settle  in  the  world  as  soon  as  I  can,  and  so  is  Mr. 
Shapely.  But  everybody  I  advise  with  here  is 
poor  Mr.  Shapely's  enemy.  I  desire,  therefore,  you 
will  give  me  your  advice,  for  I  know  you  are  a  wise 
man  ;  and  if  you  advise  me  well,  I  am  resolved  to 
follow  it.  I  heartily  wish  you  could  see  him  dance  ; 
and  am, 

"  Sir, 
"  Your  most  humble  servant, 

"  B.  D. 

"  He  loves  your  Spectators  mightily." 
C 


NO.   476.  SPECTATOR.  49 


No.  476.     FRIDAY,  SEPTEMBER  5,  1712. 


— Lucidus  ordo.  hok.  aes  poet.  41. 

Method  gives  light. 

Among  my  daily  papers  which  I  bestow  on  the 
public,  there  are  some  which  are  written  with  regu- 
larity and  method,  and  others  that  run  out  into  the 
wildness  of  those  compositions  which  go  by  the 
name  of  essays.  As  for  the  first,  I  have  the  whole 
scheme  of  the  discourse  in  my  mind  before  I  set  pen 
to  paper.  In  the  other  kind  of  writing,  it  is  suffi- 
cient that  I  have  several  thoughts  on  a  subject,  with- 
out troubling  myself  to  range  them  in  such  order, 
that  they  may  seem  to  grow  out  of  one  another,  and 
be  disposed  under  the  proper  heads.  Seneca  and 
Montaigne  are  patterns  for  writing  in  this  last  kind, 
as  Tully  and  Aristotle  excel  in  the  other.  When  I 
read  an  author  of  genius  who  writes  without  me- 
thod, I  fancy  myself  in  a  wood  that  abounds  with  a 
great  many  noble  objects,  rising  among  one  another 
in  the  greatest  confusion  and  disorder.  When  I 
read  a  methodical  discourse,  I  am  in  a  regular  plan- 
tation, and  can  place  myself  in  its  several  centres, 
so  as  to  take  a  view  of  all  the  lines  and  walks  that 
are  struck  from  them.  You  may  ramble  in  the  one 
a  whole  day  together,  and  every  moment  discover 
something  or  other  that  is  new  to  you  ;  but  when  you 
have  done,  you  will  have  but  a  confused  imperfect 
notion  of  the  place :  in  the  other,  your  eye  com- 

VOL.   XI.  4 


50  SrKCTATOK.  NO.    476 

iiiiiiul-^  llic  whole  [)r():-ii('(,'t,  luid  gives  you  siicli  lui 
iilea  of  it  as  is  not  easily  worn  out  of  the  memory. 

Irregularity  ami  want  of  method  are  only  sui)port- 
able  in  men  of  great  learning  or  genius,  wlio  are 
often  too  full  to  be  exact,  and  therefore  choose  to 
throw  tlown  their  [)earls  in  heaps  before  the  reader, 
rather  than  be  at  the  pains  of  stringing  them. 

Method  is  of  advantage  to  a  work,  both  in  respect 
to  the  writer  and  the  reader.  In  regard  to  the  first, 
it  is  a  great  help  to  his  invention.  When  a  man 
has  plaimed  his  discourse,  he  finds  a  great  many 
thoughts  rising  out  of  every  head,  that  do  not  offer 
themselves  upon  the  general  survey  of  a  subject. 
His  thoughts  are  at  the  same  time  more  intelligible, 
and  better  discover  their  drift  and  meaning,  when 
they  are  placed  in  their  proper  lights,  and  follow 
one  another  in  a  regular  series,  than  when  they 
are  thrown  together  without  order  and  connection. 
There  is  always  an  obscurity  in  confusion  ;  and  the 
same  sentence  that  would  have  enlightened  the 
reader  in  one  part  of  a  discourse,  perplexes  him  in 
anotiier.  For  the  same  reason,  likewise,  every 
thought  in  a  methodical  discourse,  shows  itself  in  its 
greatest  beauty,  as  the  several  figures  in  a  piece  of 
painting  receive  new  grace  from  their  disposition  in 
the  picture.  The  advantages  of  a  reader  from  a 
methodical  discourse,  are  corres]>ondent  with  those 
of  the  writer.  He  comprehends  every  thing  easily, 
takes  it  in  with  pleasure,  and  retains  it  long. 

Method  is  not  less  requisite  in  ordinary  conversa- 
tion tlian  in  writing,  provided  a  man  would  talk  to 
make  himself  understood.  I,  who  hear  a  thousand 
coffee-house  debates  every  day,  am  very  sensible  of 
this  want  of  method  in  the  thoughts  of  my  honest 
countrymen.  There  is  not  one  dispute  in  ten  which 
is  managed  in  those  schools  of  politics,  where,  after 


NO.    476.  SPECTATOR.  51 

the  three  first  sentences,  the  question  is  not  entirely 
lost.  Our  disputants  put  me  in  mind  of  the  scuttle- 
fish,  that,  when  he  is  unable  to  extricate  himself, 
blackens  all  the  water  about  him  till  he  becomes 
invisible.  The  man  who  does  not  know  how  to 
methodize  his  thoughts,  has  always,  to  borrow  a 
phrase  from  the  Dispensary,  'a  barren  superfluity 
of  words  ; '  the  fruit  is  lost  amidst  the  exuberance 
of  leaves. 

Tom  Puzzle  is  one  of  the  most  eminent  immetho- 
dical  disputants  of  any  that  has  fallen  under  my  ob- 
servation. Tom  has  read  enough  to  make  him  very 
impertinent;  his  knowledge  is  sufficient  to  raise 
doubts,  but  not  to  clear  them.  It  is  pity  that  he  has 
so  much  learning,  or  that  he  has  not  a  great  deal 
more.  With  these  qualifications  Tom  sets  up  for  a 
free-thinker,  finds  a  great  many  things  to  blame  in 
the  constitution  of  his  country,  and  gives  shrewd  in- 
timations, that  he  does  not  believe  another  world. 
In  short,  Puzzle  is  an  atheist  as  much  as  his  parts 
will  give  him  leave.  He  has  got  about  half  a  dozen 
common-place  topics,  into  which  he  never  fails  to 
turn  the  conversation,  whatever  was  the  occasion  of 
it.  Though  the  matter  in  debate  be  about  Douay 
or  Denain,  it  is  ten  to  one  but  half  his  discourse 
runs  upon  the  unreasonableness  of  bigotry  and  priest- 
craft. This  makes  Mr.  Puzzle  the  admiration  of 
all  those  who  have  less  sense  that  himself,  and  the 
contempt  of  all  those  who  have  more.  There  is 
none  in  town  whom  Tom  dreads  so  much  as  my 
friend  Will  Dry.  Will,  who  is  acquainted  with 
Tom's  logic,  when  he  finds  him  iiinning  off  the 
question,  cuts  him  short  with  a  '  What  then?  We 
allow  all  this  to  be  true  ;  but  what  is  it  to  our  pre- 
sent purpose  ? '  I  have  known  Tom  eloquent  half 
an  hour  together,  and  triumpliing,  as  he  thought,  in 


52  SPECTATOR.  NO.   477. 

the  superiority  of  the  argument,  when  he  has  been 
iionplussed  on  a  sudden  by  Mr.  Dry's  desiring  him 
to  tell  the  company  what  it  was  that  he  endeavoured 
to  prove.  In  short,  Dry  is  a  man  of"  a  clear  method- 
ical head,  but  few  words,  and  gains  the  same  advan- 
tage over  Puzzle  that  a  small  body  of  regular  troops 
would  gain  over  u  numberless  undisciplined  militia. 


No.  477.     SATURDAY,  SEPTEIklBER  6,  1712. 


— An  me,  luclil  amabilis 
Insania  f  audire,  et  videor  pios 
Errareper  tucos,  anueiuB 

Quos  et  aqiuB  subtunl  et  aurce. 


HOK.  CAK.  iii.  4,  6. 


— Does  airy  fancy  cheat 
My  mind  well  pleased  witb  the  deceit? 
1  seem  to  hear,  I  seem  to  move, 
And  wander  through  the  happy  grove. 
Where  smooth  springs  flow,  and  mmin'ring  breeze 
Wantons  tlu-ougu  the  waving  trees.  ckeech. 

"  SIR, 

"  Having  lately  read  your  essay  on  The  Plea- 
sures of  the  Imagination,  I  was  so  taken  with 
your  thoughts  upon  some  of  our  English  "gardens, 
that  I  cannot  forbear  troubhng  you  with  a  letter 
upon  that  subject.  I  am  one,  you  must  know,  who 
am  looked  upon  as  a  humourist  in  gardening.  I 
have  several  acres  about  my  house,  which  I  call  my 
garden,  and  which  a  skilful  gardener  would  not 
know  what  to  call.  It  is  a  confusion  of  kitchen  and 
parterre,  orchard  and  flower  garden,  which  lie  so 


NO.   477.  SPECTATOR.  ')3 

mixt  and  interwoven  with  one  another,  that  if  a  fo- 
reigner, who  had  seen  nothing  of  our  country,  should 
be  conveyed  into  my  garden  at  his  first  landing,  he 
would  look  upon  it  as  a  natural  wilderness,  and  one 
of  the  uncultivated  parts  of  our  country.  My  flowers 
grow  up  in  several  parts  of  the  garden  in  the  great- 
est luxuriancy  and  profusion.  I  am  so  far  from  be- 
ing fond  of  any  particular  one,  by  reason  of  its 
rarity,  that  if  I  meet  with  any  one  in  a  field  which 
pleases  me,  I  give  it  a  place  in  my  garden.  By  this 
means,  when  a  stranger  walks  with  me,  he  is  sur- 
prised to  see  several  large  spots  of  ground  covered 
with  ten  thousand  different  colours,  and  has  often 
singled  out  flowers  that  he  might  have  met  with  un- 
der a  common  hedge,  in  a  field,  or  in  a  meadow,  as 
some  of  the  greatest  beauties  of  the  place.  The 
only  method  I  observe  in  this  particular,  is  to  range 
in  the  same  quarter  the  products  of  the  same  sea- 
son, that  they  may  make  their  appearance  together, 
and  compose  a  picture  of  the  greatest  variety. 
There  is  the  same  irregularity  in  my  plantations, 
which  run  into  as  great  a  wildness  as  their  natures 
will  permit.  I  take  in  none  that  do  not  naturally 
rejoice  in  the  soil ;  and  am  pleased,  when  I  am 
walking  in  a  labyrinth  of  ray  own  raising,  not  to 
know  whether  the  next  tree  I  shall  meet  with  is  an 
apple  or  an  oak,  an  elm  or  a  pear-tree.  My  kitch- 
en has  likewise  its  particular  quarters  assigned  it ; 
for  besides  the  wholesome  luxury  which  that  place 
abounds  with,  I  have  always  thought  a  kitchen- 
garden  a  more  pleasant  sight  than  the  finest  orange- 
ry or  artifical  green-house.  I  love  to  see  every 
thing  in  its  perfection  ;  and  am  more  pleased  to 
survey  my  rows  of  colworts  and  cabbages,  with  a 
thousand  nameless  pot-herbs,  springing  up  in  their 
full  fragrancy  and  verdure,  than  to  see  the  tender 


54  SPECTATOR.  NO.    477. 

plants  of  foreign  countries  kept  alive  by  artificial 
heats,  or  witiiering  in  an  air  and  soil  that  are  not 
adapted  to  them.  I  must  not  omit,  that  there  is  a 
fountain  rising  in  the  upper  part  of  my  garden, 
which  forms  a  little  wandering  rill,  and  administers 
to  the  pleasure  as  well  as  the  plenty  of  the  place. 
I  have  so  conducted  it,  that  it  visits  most  of  my 
plantations  ;  and  have  taken  particular  care  to  let 
it  run  in  the  same  manner  as  it  would  do  in  an  open 
field,  so  that  it  generally  [)asses  through  banks  of 
violets  and  primroses,  plats  of  willow,  or  other  plants, 
that  seem  to  be  of  its  own  producing.  There  is  an- 
other circumstance  in  which  I  am  very  particular, 
or,  as  my  neighbours  call  me,  very  whimsical ;  as 
my  garden  invites  into  it  all  the  birds  of  the  coun- 
try, by  offering  them  the  conveniency  of  springs  and 
shades,  solitude  and  shelter,  I  do  not  suffer  any  one 
to  destroy  their  nests  in  the  spring,  or  drive  thera 
from  their  usual  haunts  in  fruit-time  ;  I  value  my 
garden  more  for  being  full  of  blackbirds  than  cher- 
ries, and  very  frankly  give  them  fruit  for  their 
songs.  By  this  means  I  have  always  the  music  of 
the  season  in  its  perfection,  and  am  highly  deliglited 
to  see  the  jay  or  the  thrush  hopping  about  my 
walks,  and  shooting  before  my  eye  across  the  se- 
veral little  glades  and  alleys  that  I  pass  through. 
I  think  there  are  as  many  kinds  of  gardening  as 
of  poetry ;  your  makers  of  parterres  and  flower- 
gardens  are  epigrammatists  and  sonneteers  in  this 
art ;  contrivers  of  bowers  and  grottoes,  treillages  and 
cascades,  are  romance  writers.  Wise  and  London 
are  our  heroic  poets  :  and  if,  as  a  critic,  I  may  sin- 
gle out  any  passage  of  their  works  to  commend,  I 
shall  take  notice  of  that  part  in  the  upper  garden 
at  Kensington,  which  was  at  first  nothing  but  a  gra- 
vel pit.     It  must  have  been  a  fine  genius  for  gar- 


NO.    477.  SPECTATOR.  55 

dening  that  could  have  thought  of  forming  such  an 
unsightly  hollow  into  so  beautiful  an  area,  and  to 
have  hit  the  eye  with  so  uncomiuon  and  agreeable 
a  scene  as  that  which  it  is  now  wrought  into.  To 
give  this  particular  spot  of  ground  the  greater  effect, 
they  have  made  a  very  pleasing  contrast ;  for,  as  on 
one  side  of  the  walk  you  see  this  hollow  bason,  with 
its  several  little  plantations,  lying  so  conveniently 
under  the  eye  of  the  beholder,  on  the  other  side  of 
it  there  appears  a  seeming  mount,  made  up  of  trees 
rising  one  higher  than  another,  in  proportion  as  they 
approach  the  centre.  A  spectator,  who  has  not 
heard  this  account  of  it,  would  think  this  circular 
mount  was  not  only  a  real  one,  but  that  it  had  been 
actually  scooped  out  of  that  hollow  space  which  I 
have  before  mentioned.  I  never  yet  met  with  any 
one,  who  has  walked  in  this  garden,  who  was  not 
struck  with  that  part  of  it  which  I  have  here  men- 
tioned. As  for  myself,  you  will  find,  by  the  ac- 
count which  I  have  already  given  you,  that  my  com- 
positions in  gardening  are  altogether  after  the  Pm- 
daric  manner,  and  run  into  the  beautiful  wildness 
of  nature,  without  affecting  the  nicer  elegancies  of 
art.  What  I  am  now  going  to  mention  will,  per- 
haps, deserve  your  attention  more  than  any  thing 
I  have  yet  said.  I  find  that,  in  the  discourse  which 
I  spoke  of  at  the  beginning  of  ray  letter,  you  are 
against  filling  an  English  garden  with  evergreens ; 
and  indeed  I  am  so  far  of  your  opinion,  that  I  can 
by  no  means  think  the  verdure  of  an  evergreen 
compai-able  to  that  which  shoots  out  annually,  and 
clothes  our  ti-ees  in  the  summer  season.  But  I  have 
often  wondered  that  those  who  are  like  myself,  and 
love  to  live  in  gardens,  have  never  thought  of  con- 
triving a  winter  garden,  which  should  consist  of 
such   trees  only  as   never  cast  their  leaves.     We 


56  SPECTATOR.  NO.   477. 

have  very  often  little  snatches  of  sunshine  and  fair 
weather  in  the  most  uncomfortable  parts  of  the  year, 
and  liiivc  frequently  several  days  in  November  and 
January  that  are  tu-*  agreeable  as  any  in  the  finest 
montiis.  At  surh  tmies,  therefore,  I  think  there  could 
not  be  a  greater  pleasure  than  to  walk  in  such  a 
winter  garden  as  I  have  proposed.  In  the  summer 
season  tlic  wiiole  country  blooms,  and  is  a  kind  of 
garden  ;  for  which  reason  we  are  not  so  sensible  of 
those  beauties  that  at  this  time  may  be  everywhere 
met  with  ;  but  when  luiture  is  in  her  desolation, 
and  presents  us  with  nothing  but  bleak  and  barren 
prospects,  there  is  something  unspeakably  cheerful 
in  a  spot  of  ground  which  is  covered  with  trees 
that  smile  amidst  all  the  rigours  of  winter,  and  give 
us  a  view  of  the  most  gay  season  in  the  midst  of 
that  which  is  the  most  dead  and  melancholy.  I 
have  so  far  indulged  myself  in  this  thought,  that  I 
have  set  apart  a  whole  acre  of  ground  for  the  exe- 
cuting of  it.  The  walls  are  covered  with  ivy  instead 
of  vines.  The  laurel,  the  horn-beam,  and  the  holly, 
with  many  other  trees  and  plants  of  the  same  na- 
ture, grow  so  thick  in  it,  that  you  cannot  imagine  a 
more  lively  scene.  The  glowing  redness  of  the  ber- 
ries, with  which  they  are  hung  at  this  time,  vies 
with  the  verdure  of  their  leaves,  and  is  apt  to  in- 
spire tlie  heart  of  the  beholder  with  that  vernal  de- 
light which  you  have  somewhere  taken  notice  of  in 
your  former  papers.  It  is  very  pleasant,  at  the 
same  time,  to  see  the  several  kinds  of  birds  retiring 
into  this  little  green  spot,  and  enjoying  themselves 
among  the  branches  and  foliage,  when  my  great 
garden,  which  I  have  before  mentioned  to  you,  does 
not  afford  a  single  leaf  for  their  shelter. 

"  You  must  know,  Sir,  that  I  look  upon  the  plea- 
sure which  we  take  in  a  garden  as  one  of  the  most  in- 


NO.    478.  SPECTATOR.  57 

iiocent  delights  in  human  life.  A  garden  was  the 
habitation  of  our  first  parents  before  the  fall.  It  is 
naturally  apt  to  fill  the  mind  with  calmness  and  tran- 
quillity, and  to  lay  all  its  turbulent  passions  at  rest. 
It  gives  us  a  great  insight  into  the  contrivance  and 
wisdom  of  Providence,  and  suggests  innumerable 
subjects  for  meditation.  I  cannot  but  think  the 
very  complacency  and  satisfaction  which  a  man 
takes  in  these  works  of  nature  to  be  a  laudable,  if 
not  a  virtuous,  habit  of  mind.  For  all  which  rea- 
sons I  hope  you  will  pardon  the  length  of  my  pre- 
sent letter.  "  I  am, 

C  "  Sir,"  &c. 


No.  478.     MONDAY,  SEPTEMBER  8,  1712. 


Quern  penes  arbiirium  est,  et  jus,  et  norma. — 

nOR  ARS  POET.   72. 

Fashion,  sole  arbitress  of  dress. 
"  MR.    SPECTATOR, 

"It  happened  lately  that  a  friend  of  mine,  who 
had  many  things  to  buy  for  his  family,  would  oblige 
me  to  walk  with  him  to  the  shops.  He  was  very 
nice  in  his  way,  and  fond  of  having  every  thing 
shown  ;  which  at  first  made  me  very  uneasy  ;  but,  as 
his  humour  still  continued,  the  things  which  I  had 
been  staring  at  along  with  him,  began  to  fill  ray 
head,  and  led  me  into  a  set  of  amusing  thoughts  con- 
cerning them. 

"  I  fancied  it  must  be  verj^  surprising  to  any  one 


58  SnCCTATOK.  NO.    478. 

wlio  ciiU-rs  info  a  ddail  of  fashions  toconsiik-r  how 
far  lh(.'  vanity  of  mankind  lias  hvid  itself  out  in  dress, 
what  a  |irodi<Tious  nuinher  of  people  it  maintains, 
and  what  a  circulation  of  money  it  occasions.  Pro- 
vidence in  this  case  makes  use  of  the  folly  which  we 
•will  not  give  up,  and  it  becomes  instrumental  to  the 
support  of  those  who  are  willing  to  labour.  Hence 
it  is  that  fringe-makers,  lacemen,  tire-women,  and 
a  number  of  other  trades,  which  would  be  useless  in 
a  simple  state  of  nature,  draw  their  subsistence  ; 
though  it  is  seldom  seen  that  such  as  these  are  ex- 
tremely rich,  because  their  original  fault  of  being 
founded  upon  vanity  keeps  them  poor  by  the  light 
inconstancy  of  its  nature.  Tiie  variableness  of 
fashion  turns  the  stream  of  business,  which  Hows 
from  it,  now  into  one  channel,  and  anon  into  anotlier ; 
so  that  different  sets  of  people  sink  or  ilourish  in 
their  turns  by  it. 

"  From  the  shops  we  retired  to  the  tavern,  where 
I  found  my  friend  express  so  much  satisfaction  for 
the  bargains  he  had  made,  that  my  moral  reflections, 
if  I  had  told  them,  might  have  passed  for  a  reproof; 
so  I  chose  rather  to  fall  in  with  him,  and  let  the  dis- 
course run  upon  the  use  of  fashions. 

"  Here  we  remembered  how  much  man  is  govern- 
ed by  his  senses,  how  lively  he  is  struck  by  the  ob- 
jects which  appear  to  him  in  an  agreeable  manner, 
how  much  clothes  contribute  to  make  us  agreeable 
objects,  and  how  much  we  owe  it  to  ourselves  that 
we  should  appear  so. 

"  We  considered  man  as  belonging  to  societies ; 
societies  as  formed  of  different  ranks,  and  different 
ranks  distinguished  by  habits,  that  all  proper  duty 
or  respect  might  attend  their  appearance. 

"  We  took  notice  of  several  advantages  which  are 
met  with  in  the  occurrences  of  conversation;   how 


NO.    478.  SPECTATOR.  59 

the  bashful  man  has  been  sometimes  so  raised,  as  to 
express  himself  with  an  air  of  freedom  when  he 
imagines  that  his  habit  introduces  him  to  company, 
with  a  becoming  manner;  and  again,  how  a  fool 
in  fine  clothes  shall  be  suddenly  heai'd  with  atten- 
tion, till  he  has  betrayed  himself ;  whereas  a  man  of 
sense,  appearing  with  a  dress  of  negligence,  shall  be 
but  coldly  received  till  he  be  proved  by  time,  and 
established  in  a  character.  Such  things  as  these  we 
could  recollect  to  have  happened  to  our  own  know- 
ledge so  very  often,  that  we  concluded  the  author 
'had  his  reasons,  who  advises  his  son  to  go  in  dress 
rather  above  his  fortune  than  under  it. 

"  At  last  the  subject  seemed  so  considerable,  that 
it  was  proposed  to  have  a  repository  built  for  flishions, 
as  there  are  chambers  for  medals  and  other  rarities. 
The  buildings  may  be  shaped  as  that  which  stands 
among  the  pyramids,  in  the  form  of  a  woman's 
head.  This  may  be  raised  upon  pillars,  whose  or- 
naments shall  bear  a  just  relation  to  the  design. 
Thus  there  may  be  an  imitation  of  fringe  carved  in 
the  base,  a  sort  of  appearance  of  lace  in  the  frieze, 
and  a  representation  of  curhng  locks,  with  bows  of 
riband  sloping  over  them,  may  fill  up  the  work  of 
the  cornice.  The  inside  may  be  divided  into  two 
apartments  appropriated  to  each  sex.  The  apart- 
ments may  be  filled  with  shelves,  on  which  boxes 
are  to  stand  as  regularly  as  books  in  a  library. 
These  are  to  have  folding  doors,  which,  being  open- 
fed,  you  are  to  behold  a  baby  dressed  out  in  some 
fashion  which  has  flourished,  and  standing  upon  a 
pedestal,  where  the  time  of  its  reign  is  marked 
down.  For  its  further  regulation,  let  it  be  ordered, 
that  every  one  who  invents  a  fashion  shall  bring  in 
his  box,  w^hose  front  he  may  at  pleasure  have  either 
worked  or  painted  with  some  amorous  or  gay  de- 


60  SPECTATOR.  NO.   478. 

vice,  that,  like  books  with  gilded  leaves  and  covers, 
it  may  the  sooner  draw  the  eyes  of  the  beholders. 
And  to  the  end  that  these  may  be  preserved  with  all 
due  care,  let  there  be  a  keeper  appointed,  wlio  shall 
be  a  gentleman  qualified  with  a  competent  know- 
ledge in  clothes  ;  so  that  by  this  means  the  place  will 
be  a  comfortable  sup[)ort  for  some  beau  who  has 
spent  his  estate  in  dressing. 

''Tiie  reasons  offered,  by  which  we  expected  to 
gain  the  approbation  of  the  public,  were  as  follows  : 

"  First,  tiiat  every  one  who  is  considerable  enough 
to  be  a  mode,  and  has  any  imperfection  of  nature 
or  chance,  which  it  is  possible  to  hide  by  the  advan- 
tage of  clothes,  may,  by  coming  to  this  repository, 
be  furnished  herself,  and  furnish  all,  who  are  under 
the  same  misfortune,  with  the  most  agreeable  man- 
ner of  concealing  it ;  and  that,  on  the  otlier  side, 
every  one,  who  has  any  beauty  in  face  or  sha|)e,  ras|,y 
also  be  furnished  with  the  most  agreeable  manner 
of  showing  it. 

"  Secondly,  That  whereas  some  of  our  young 
gentlemen  who  travel,  give  us  great  reason  to  sus- 
pect that  they  only  go  abroad  to  make  or  improve  a 
fancy  for  dress,  a  project  of  this  nature  may  be  a 
means  to  keep  them  at  home  ;  which  is  in  efiect  the 
kee|)ing  of  so  much  money  in  the  kingdom.  And 
perliaps  the  balance  of  fashion  in  Europe,  which 
now  leans  upon  the  side  of  France,  may  be  so  al- 
tered for  the  future,  that  it  may  become  as  common 
with  Frenchmen  to  come  to  England  for  their  finish- 
ing stroke  of  breeding,  as  it  has  been  for  P^nglishmen 
to  go  to  France  for  it. 

"  Thirdly,  Whereas  several  great  scholars,  who 
might  have  been  otherwise  useful  to  the  world,  have 
spent  their  time  in  studying  to  describe  the  dresses 
of  the  ancients  from  dark  hints,  which  they  are  fain 


NO.   478.  SPECTATOR.  61 

to  interpret  and  support  with  much  learning  ;  it  will 
from  henceforth  liappen  that  they  siiall  be  freed 
from  the  trouble,  and  the  world  from  useless  volumes. 
This  project  will  be  a  registry,  to  which  posterity 
may  have  recourse,  for  the  clearing  such  obscnre 
passages  as  tend  that  way  in  authors  ;  and  therefore 
we  shall  not  for  the  future  submit  ourselves  to  the 
learning  of  etymology  which  might  persuade  the 
age  to  come  that  the  farthingale  was  worn  for  cheap- 
ness, or  the  furbelow  for  warmth. 

"  Fourthly,  Whereas  they,  who  are  old  them- 
selves, have  often  a  way  of  railing  at  the  extrava- 
gance of  youth,  and  the  whole  age  in  which  their 
children  live  ;  it  is  hoped  that  this  ill-humour  will  be 
much  suppressed,  when  we  can  have  recourse  to 
the  fashions  of  their  times,  produce  them  in  our  vin- 
dication, and  be  able  to  show,  that  it  might  have 
been  as  expensive  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  time  only 
to  wash  and  quill  a  ruff,  as  it  is  now  to  buy  cravats 
or  neck  handkerchiefs. 

"  We  desire,  also,  to  have  it  taken  notice  of,  that 
because  we  would  show  a  particular  respect  to 
foreigners,  which  may  induce  them  to  perfect  their 
breeding  here  in  a  knowledge  which  is  very  proper 
for  pretty  gentlemen,  we  have  conceived  the  motto 
for  the  house  in  the  learned  language.  There  is  to 
be  a  picture  over  the  door,  with  a  looking  glass  and 
a  dressing  chair  in  the  middle  of  it ;  then  on  one 
side  are  to  be  seen,  above  one  another,  patch-boxes, 
pin-cushions,  and  little  bottles  ;  on  the  other,  powder- 
bags,  putfs,  combs,  and  brushes  ;  beyond  these,  swords 
with  tine  knots,  whose  points  are  hidden,  and  fans 
almost  closed,  with  the  handles  downward,  are  to 
stand  out  interchangeably  from  the  sides,  till  they 
meet  at  the  top,  and  form  a  semicircle  over  the  rest 
of  the  figures ;  beneath  all,  the  writing  is  to  run  in 
this  pretty  sounding  manner  : 


62  SrECTATUU.  NO.    478. 

Adeste,  0  (jiwlquot  xunt,  Viiii:rts,  Graticc,  Cuj/idines, 
En  robis  adsuM  in  promplu 

Facte,  viiuuld,  ajnculu : 
Hinc  clii/iU',  sumilt,  rtijite. 

All  ye  Venuses,  Graces,  and  Cupids  attend: 

See,  prepared  to  your  linnds 

Dixrts,  tl)rcllel^,  ami  bunds: 
Your  weapons  here  choose,  and  your  empire  extend. 

"I  am,  Sir, 
"  Yuiir  most  humble  servant, 

"  A.  B." 

The  proposal  of  my  correspondent  I  cannot  but 
look  upon  as  an  ingenious  method  of  placing  per- 
sons, whose  parts  make  them  ambitious  to  exert 
themselves  in  frivolous  things,  in  a  rank  by  them- 
selves. In  order  to  this,  I  would  propose  that  there 
be  a  board  of  directors  of  thp  fashionable  society  ; 
and,  because  it  is  a  matter  of  too  much  weight  for 
a  private  man  to  determine  alone,  I  should  be  highly 
obliged  to  my  correspondents  if  they  would  give  in 
lists  of  persons  qualiiied  for  this  trust.  If  the  chief 
coffee-houses,  the  conversations  of  which  ])laces  are 
carried  on  by  persons,  each  of  whom  has  his  little 
number  of  followers  and  admirers,  would  name  from 
among  themselves  two  or  three  to  be  inserted,  they 
should  be  put  up  with  great  faithfulness.  Old 
beaux  are  to  be  represented  in  the  first  place ;  but 
as  that  sect,  with  relation  to  dress,  is  almost  extinct, 
it  will,  I  fear,  be  absolutely  necessary  to  take  in  all 
time-servers,  properly  so  deemed ;  that  is,  such  as, 
without  any  conviction  of  conscience,  or  view  of  in- 
terest, change  with  the  world,  and  that  merely  from 
a  terror  of  being  out  of  fashion.  Such  also,  who 
from  facility  of  temper  and  too  much  obsecpiious- 
ness,  are  vicious  against  their  will,  and  follow 
leaders  whom  they  do  not  approve,  for  want  of  cou- 


NO.    479.  SPECTATOR.  63 

rage  to  go  their  own  way,  are  capable  persons  for 
this  siiperintendency.  Those  who  are  loth  to  grow 
old,  or  would  do  any  thing  contrary  to  the  course 
and  order  of  things,  out  of  fondness  to  be  in  fashion, 
ai'e  proper  candidates.  To  conclude,  those  who  are 
in  fashion  without  appai-ent  merit,  must  be  supposed 
to  have  latent  qualities,  which  would  appear  in  a 
post  of  direction  ;  and  therefore  are  to  be  regarded 
in  forming  these  lists.  Any,  who  shall  be  pleased 
according  to  these,  or  what  further  qualifications 
may  occur  to  himself,  to  send  a  list,  is  desired  to  do 
it  within  fourteen  days  after  this  date. 

N.  B.  The  place  of  the  physician  to  this  society, 
according  to  the  last-mentioned  qualification,  is  al- 
ready engaged. 

T 


No.  479.     TUESDAY,  SEPTEMBER  9,  1712. 


— Dare  jura  maritis.  hok.  aks  poet.  398. 

To  regulate  the  matrimonial  life. 

Many  are  the  epistles  I  every  day  receive  from 
husbands  who  complain  of  vanity,  pride,  but,  above 
all,  ill-nature  in  their  wives.  I  cannot  tell  how  it 
is,  but  I  think  I  see  in  all  their  letters  that  the  cause 
of  their  uneasiness  is  in  themselves ;  and  indeed  I 
have  hardly  ever  observed  the  married  condition 
unhappy,  but  from  want  of  judgment  or  temper  in 
the  man.     The  truth  is,  we  generally  make  love  in 


64:  SPECTATOU.  NO.   479. 

a  Style  and  with  seiitiineiits  very  unfit  for  ordinary 
life;  they  are  half  theatrical,  half  romantic.  By 
this  means  we  raise  our  imaginations  to  what  is  not 
to  be  expected  in  iunnan  life  ;  and,  because  we  did 
not  beforehand  think  of  the  creature  we  were  ena- 
moured of,  as  subject  to  disluimour,  age,  sickness, 
impatience,  or  sullenness,  but  altogether  considered 
her  as  the  object  of  joy  ;  human  nature  itself  is 
often  imputed  to  her  as  her  particular  imperfection, 
or  defect. 

I  take  it  to  be  a  rule,  proper  to  be  observed  in  all 
occurrences  of  life,  but  more  especially  in  the  do- 
mestic, or  matrimonial  part  of  it,  to  preserve  always 
a  disposition  to  be  pleased.  This  cannot  be  sup- 
ported but  by  considering  things  in  their  right  light, 
and  as  Nature  has  formed  them,  and  not  as  our  own 
fancies  or  appetites  would  have  them.  He  then 
who  took  a  young  lady  to  his  bed,  with  no  other 
consideration  than  the  expectation  of  scenes  of 
dalHance,  and  thought  of  her,  as  I  said  before, 
only  as  she  was  to  administer  to  the  gratification  of 
desire ;  as  that  desire  flags,  will,  witiiout  her  fault, 
think  her  charms  and  her  merit  abated;  from 
hence  must  follow  indifference,  dislike,  peevishness, 
and  rage.  But  the  man  who  brings  his  reason  to 
support  his  passion,  and  beholds  what  he  loves,  as 
liable  to  all  the  calamities  of  human  life  both  in 
body  and  mind,  and  even  at  the  best  what  must 
bring  upon  him  new  cares,  and  new  relations  ;  such 
a  lover,  I  say,  will  form  himself  accordingly,  and 
adapt  his  mind  to  the  nature  of  his  circumstances. 
This  latter  person  will  be  prepared  to  be  a  father, 
a  friend,  an  advocate,  a  steward  for  people  yet  un- 
born, and  has  proper  affections  ready  for  every  in- 
cident in  the  marriage  state.  Such  a  man  can  hear 
the  cries  of  children  with  pity  instead  of  anger  ;  and, 


NO.   479.  SPECTATOR.  65 

when  they  run  over  his  head,  he  is  not  disturbed  at 
the  noise,  but  is  glad  of  their  mirth  and  health- 
Tom  Trusty  has  told  me,  that  he  thinks  it  doubles- 
his  attention  to  the  most  intricate  affair  he  is  about, 
to  hear  his  children,  for  whom  all  his  cares  are  ap- 
plied, make  a  noise  in  the  next  room ;  on  the  other 
side,  Will  Sparkish  cannot  put  on  his  periwig,  or 
adjust  his  cravat  at  the  glass,  for  the  noise  of  those 
damned  nurses  and  squalhng  brats ;  and  then  ends 
with  a  gallant  reflection  upon  the  comforts  of  matri- 
mony, runs  out  of  the  hearing,  and  drives  to  the 
chocolate-house. 

According  as  the  husband  is  disposed  in  himself, 
every  circums-tance  of  his  life  is  to  give  him  tor- 
ment or  pleasure.  When  the  affection  is  well  placed, 
and  supported  by  the  considerations  of  duty,  honour, 
and  friendship,  whicli  are  in  the  highest  degree  en- 
gaged in  this  alliance,  there  can  nothing  rise  in 
the  common  course  of  life,  or  from  the  blows  or 
favours  of  fortune,  in  which  a  man  will  not  find 
matters  of  some  delight  unknown  to  a  single  con- 
dition. 

He  that  sincerely  loves  his  wife  and  family,  and 
studies  to  improve  that  affection  in  himself,  con- 
ceives pleasure  from  the  most  indifferent  things ; 
while  the  married  man,  who  has  not  bid  adieu  to 
the  fashions  and  false  gallantries  of  the  town,  is  per- 
plexed with  every  thing  around  him.  In  both  these 
cases  men  cannot,  indeed,  make  a  sillier  figure,  than 
in  repeating  such  pleasures  and  pains  to  the  rest  of 
the  world  ;  but  I  speak  of  them  only,  as  they  sit 
upon  those  who  are  involved  in  them.  As  I  visit 
all  sorts  of  people,  I  cannot  indeed  but  smile,  when 
the  good  lady  tells  her  husband  what  extraordinary 
things  the  child  spoke  since  he  went  out.  No  longer 
than  yesterday  I  was  prevailed  with  to  go  home 

VOL.    XI.  5 


G6  SPECTATOR.  XO.    479. 

with  a  fund  liushiiiid ;  and  his  wife  tokl  him,  tiiat  his 
son,  of  his  own  head,  when  the  cloek  in  the  pai-lour 
struck  two,  said  papa  would  come  liome  to  dinner 
presently.  While  the  father  has  him  in  a  rapture 
in  his  arms,  and  is  drowning  him  with  kisses,  the 
wife  tells  me  he  is  but  just  four  years  old.  Then 
they  both  struggle  for  him,  and  bring  him  up  to  me, 
and  rei)eat  his  observation  of  two  o'clock.  I  was 
called  upon,  by  looks  upon  the  child,  and  then  at 
me,  to  say  something;  and  I  told  the  father  that  this 
remark  of  the  infant  of  his  coming  home,  and  Joining 
tlic  time  with  it,  was  a  certain  indication  that  he 
would  be  a  great  historian  and  chronologer.  They 
are  neither  of  them  fools,  yet  received  my  compli- 
ment with  great  acknowledgment  of  my  prescience. 
I  fared  very  well  at  dinner,  and  heard  many  other 
notable  sayings  of  their  heir,  which  would  have 
given  very  little  entertainment  to  one  less  turned  to 
reflection  than  I  was  ;  but  it  was  a  pleasing  specu- 
lation to  remark  on  the  happiness  of  a  life,  in  which 
things  of  no  moment  give  occasion  of  hope,  self- 
satisfaction  and  triumph.  On  the  other  hand,  I 
have  known  an  ill-natured  coxcomb,  who  has  hardly 
improved  in  any  thing  but  bulk,  for  want  of  this  dis- 
position, silence  the  whole  family  as  a  set  of  silly 
women  and  children,  for  recounting  things  which 
were  I'cally  above  his  own  ca[)acity. 

When  I  say  all  this,  I  caiuiot  deny  but  there  are 
perverse  jades  that  fall  to  men's  lots,  with  whom  it 
recjuires  more  than  common  proficiency  in  philoso- 
phy to  be  able  to  live.  When  these  are  joined  to 
men  of  warm  spirits,  without  temper  or  learning, 
they  are  frequently  corrected  with  stripes ;  but  one 
of  our  famous  lawyers*  is  of  opinion,  that  this  ought 

*  Bracton. 


NO.    479.  SPECTATOR.  67 

to  be  used  sparingly ;  as  I  remember,  tliose  are  his 
very  words  ;  but  as  it  is  proper  to  draw  some  spirit- 
ual use  out  of  all  afflictions,  I  should  rather  re- 
commend to  those  who  are  visited  with  women  of 
spirit,  to  form  themselves  for  the  world  by  patience 
at  home.  Socrates,  who  is  by  all  accounts  the  un- 
doubted head  of  the  sect  of  the  hen-pecked,  owned 
and  acknowledged  that  he  owed  great  part  of  his 
virtue  to  the  exercise  which  his  useful  wife  con- 
stantly gave  it.  Thei-e  are  several  good  instructions 
may  be  drawn  from  his  wise  answers  to  people  of 
less  fortitude  than  himself  on  her  subject.  A  friend, 
with  indignation,  asked  how  so  good  a  man  could 
live  with  so  violent  a  creature  ?  He  observed  to 
him,  that  they  Avho  learn  to  keep  a  good  seat  on 
horseback,  mount  the  least  manageable  they  can  get ; 
and,  when  they  have  mastered  them,  they  are  sure 
never  to  be  discomposed  on  the  backs  of  steeds  less 
restive.  At  several  times,  to  different  persons,  on 
the  same  subject  he  has  said,  '  My  dear  friend,  you 
are  beholden  to  Xantippe,  that  I  bear  so  well  your 
flying  out  in  a  dispute.'  To  another,  '  My  hen  clacks 
very  much,  but  she  brings  me  chickens.  They  that 
live  in  a  trading  street  are  not  disturbed  at  the  pas- 
sage of  carts.'  I  would  have,  if  possible,  a  wise  man 
be  contented  with  his  lot,  even  with  a  shrew ;  for, 
though  he  cannot  make  her  better,  he  may,  you  see, 
make  himself  better  by  her  means. 

But,  instead  of  pursuing  my  design  of  displaying 
conjugal  love  in  its  natural  beauties  and  attractions, 
I  am  got  into  tales  to  the  disadvantage  of  that  state 
of  life.  I  must  say,  therefore,  that  I  am  verily  per- 
suaded, that  whatever  is  delightful  in  human  life  is 
to  be  enjoyed  in  greater  perfection  in  the  married 
than  in  the  single  condition.  He  that  has  this  pas- 
sion in  perfection,  in  occasions  of  joy,  can  say   to 


68  SPECTATOU.  NO.   480. 

himself,  besides  his  own  sutisfactioii,  '  IIow  happy 
will  this  make  my  wife  and  ehildieii ! '  Upon  occur- 
rences of  distress,  or  dangur,  can  comfort  himself, 
'But  all  this  while  my  wife  and  children  are  safe.' 
There  is  something  in  it,  that  doubles  satisfactions, 
because  others  participate  them ;  and  dispels  afflic- 
tions, because  others  are  exempt  from  them.  All 
who  are  married  without  this  relish  of  their  circum- 
stance are  in  either  a  tasteless  indolence  and  negli- 
gence which  is  hardly  to  be  attained,  or  else  live  in 
the  hourly  repetition  of  sharp  answers,  eager  up- 
braidings,  and  distracting  reproaches.  In  a  word, 
the  married  state,  with  and  without  the  affection 
suitable  to  it,  is  the  com^jletest  image  of  heaven  and 
hell  we  are  capable  of  receiving  in  this  life. 

T 


No.  480.    WEDNESDAY,  SEPTEMBER  10,  1712. 


Responsare  cupidinibus,  contemnere  honores 
Fortia,  et  in  seipso  lotus  teres  atque  rolundus. 

HOK.  SAT.  ii.  7.  85. 

He,  Sir,  is  pi-oof  to  grandeur,  pride,  or  pelf, 

And,  greater  still,  he's  ma^ster  of  himself: 

Not  to  and  fro  by  fears  and  factions  hurl'd. 

But  loose  to  all  the  interests  of  the  world; 

And  while  the  world  turns  round,  entire  and  whole, 

He  keeps  the  sacred  tenour  of  his  soul.  pitt. 

The  other  day,  looking  over  those  old  manu- 
scripts of  which  I  have  formerly  given  some  ac- 
count, and  which    relate  to  the    character  of  the 


NO.   480.  SP"ECTATOR.  OV 

mighty  Pharamond  of  France,  and  the  close  friend- 
ship between  him  and  his  friend  Eucrate,  I  found 
among  the  letters  which  had  been  in  the  custody 
of  the  latter  an  epistle  from  a  country  gentleman 
to  Pharampnd,  wherein  he  excuses  himself  from 
coming  to  court.  The  gentleman,  it  seems,  was 
contented  with  his  condition,  had  formerly  been  in 
the  king's  service  ;  but  at  the  writing  the  following 
letter  had,  from  leisure  and  reflection,  quite  another 
sense  of  things  than  that  which  he  had  in  the  more 
active  part  of  his  life. 

'MONSIEUR   CHEZLUY    TO   PHARAMOND. 

'dread  sir, 

'I  have  from  your  own  hand,  inclosed  under  the 
cover  of  Mr.  Eucrate,  of  your  Majesty's  bed-cham- 
ber, a  letter  which  invites  me  to  coui't.  I  under- 
stand this  great  honour  to  be  done  me  out  of  respect 
and  inclination  to  me,  rather  than  regard  to  your 
own  service  ;  for  which  reason  I  beg  leave  to  lay 
before  your  Majesty  my  reasons  for  declining  to  de- 
part from  home  ;  and  will  not  doubt  but,  as  your 
motive  in  desiring  my  attendance  was  to  make  me 
a  happier  man,  when  you  think  that  will  not  be 
effected  by  my  remove,  you  will  permit  me  to  stay 
where  I  am.  Those  who  have  an  ambition  to  ap- 
pear in  courts,  have  ever  an  opinion  that  their  per- 
sons or  their  talents  are  particularly  formed  for  the 
service  or  ornament  of  that  place  ;  or  else  are  hur- 
ried by  downright  desire  of  gain,  or  what  they  call 
honour,  to  take  upon  themselves  whatever  the  ge- 
nerosity of  their  master  can  give  them  opportunities 
to  grasp  at.  But  your  goodness  shall  not  be  thus 
imposed  upon  by  me  ;  I  will  therefore  confess  to 
you,  that  frequent  solitude,  and  long  conversation 


70  SPECTATOR.  NO.   480. 

with  such  who  know  no  arts  which  polish  life,  have 
made  me  the  plainest  creature  in  your  dominions. 
Those  less  cajjacities  of  moving  with  a  good  grace, 
bearing  a  ready  attability  to  all  around  me,  and 
acting  with  ease  before  many,  have  quite  left  me. 
I  am  come  to  that,  with  regard  to  my  person,  that 
I  consider  it  only  as  a  machine  I  am  obliged  to  take 
care  of,  in  order  to  enjoy  my  soul  in  its  faculties 
with  alacrity ;  well  remembering  that  this  habita- 
tion of  clay  will,  in  a  few  years,  be  a  meaner  piece 
of  earth  than  any  utensil  about  my  house.  When 
this  is,  as  it  really  is,  the  most  frequent  reflection 
I  have,  you  will  easily  imagine  how  well  I  should 
become  a  drawing-room ;  add  to  this,  what  shall  a 
man  without  desires  do  about  the  generous  Phara- 
mond  ?  Monsieur  Eucrate  has  hinted  to  me,  that 
you  have  thoughts  of  distinguishing  me  with  titles. 
As  for  myself,  in  the  temper  of  my  present  mind,  ap- 
pellations of  honour  would  but  embarrass  discourse, 
and  new  behaviour  towards  me  perplex  me  in  every 
habitude  of  life.  I  am  also  to  acknowledge  to  you 
that  my  children,  of  whom  your  Majesty  conde- 
scended to  inquire,  are  all  of  them  mean,  both  in 
their  persons  and  genius.  The  estate  my  eldest  son 
is  heir  to,  is  more  than  he  can  enjoy  with  a  good 
grace.  My  self-love  will  not  carry  me  so  far  as  to 
impose  upon  mankind  the  advancement  of  persons, 
merely  for  their  being  related  to  me,  into  high  dis- 
tinctions, who  ought  for  their  own  sakes,  as  well  as 
that  of  the  public,  to  alfcct  ubscurity.  I  wish,  my 
generous  prince,  as  it  is  in  your  power  to  give  ho- 
nours and  offices,  it  were  also  to  give  talents  suit- 
able to  them ;  were  it  so,  the  noble  Pharamond 
would  reward  the  zeal  of  my  youth  with  abilities  to 
do  him  service  in  my  age. 

'  Those  who  accept  of  favour  without  merit,  sup- 


NO.    480.  SPECTATOR.  71 

port  themselves  in  it  at  the  expense  of  join-  Majesty. 
Give  me  leave  to  tell  you,  Sir,  this  is  the  reason 
that  we  in  the  country  hear  so  often  repeated  the 
word  prerogative.  That  part  of  your  law  which 
is  reserved  in  yourself,  for  the  readier  service  and 
good  of  the  public,  slight  men  are  eternally  buzzing 
in  our  ears,  to  cover  their  own  follies  and  miscar- 
riages. It  would  be  an  addition  to  the  high  favour 
you  have  done  me,  if  you  would  let  Eucrate  send 
me  word  how  often,  and  in  what  cases,  you  allow  a 
constable  to  insist  upon  the  prerogative.  From  the 
highest  to  the  lowest  officer  in  your  dominions, 
something  of  their  own  carriage  they  would  exempt 
from  examination,  under  the  shelter  of  the  word 
prerogative.  I  would  fain,  most  noble  Pharamond, 
see  one  of  your  officers  assert  your  prerogative  by 
good  and  gracious  actions.  When  is  it  used  to  help 
the  afflicted,  to  rescue  the  innocent,  to  comfort  the 
stranger?  Uncommon  methods,  apparently  under- 
taken to  attain  worthy  ends,  would  never  make 
power  invidious.  You  see.  Sir,  I  talk  to  you  with 
the  freedom  your  noble  nature  approves  in  all  whom 
you  admit  to  your  conversation. 

'  But,  to  return  to  your  Majesty's  letter,  I  humbly 
conceive  that  all  distinctions  are  useful  to  men,  only 
as  they  are  to  act  in  public ;  and  it  would  be  a  ro- 
mantic madness  for  a  man  to  be  a  lord  in  his  closet. 
Nothing  can  be  honourable  to  a  man  apart  from  the 
world,  but  reflection  upon  worthy  actions  ;  and  he 
that  places  honour  in  a  consciousness  of  well-doiug 
will  have  but  little  relish  for  any  outward  hojiiage 
that  is  paid  him,  since  what  gives  him  distinction  to 
himself,  cannot  come  within  the  observation  of  his 
beholders.  Thus  all  the  w^ords  of  lordship,  honour, 
and  grace,  are  only  repetitions  to  a  man  that  the 
king  has  ordered  him  to   be  called  so  ;  but  no  evi- 


/2  SPECTATOR.  NO.   48a 

dences  that  there  is  any  thing  in  himself,  tliat  would 
give  the  man,  who  applies  to  him,  those  ideas,  with- 
out the  creation  of  his  master. 

'  I  have,  most  noble  Pliaramond,  all  honours  and 
all  titles  in  your  own  approbation;  I  triumph  in 
them  as  they  are  your  gift,  I  refuse  them  as  they 
are  to  give  me  the  observation  of  others.  Indulge 
me,  my  noble  master,  in  this  chastity  of  renown  ; 
let  me  know  myself  in  the  favour  of  Pliaramond; 
and  look  down  u[)(Mi  the  applause  of  the  people. 
I  am, 

"  In  all  duty  and  loyalty, 

'  Your  Majesty's  most  obedient 
'  subject  and  servant, 

'Jean  Ciiezluy.' 

"  SIR, 

"I  need  not  tell  with  what  disadvantages  men  of 
low  fortunes  and  great  modesty  come  into  the  world ; 
what  wrong  measures  their  diiliilence  of  themselves, 
and  fear  of  offending,  often  oblige  them  to  take  ; 
and  what  a  pity  it  is  that  their  greatest  virtues  and 
qualities,  that, should  soonest  recommend  them,  are 
the  main  obstacle  in  the  way  of  their  preferment. 

"This,  Sir,  is  my  case  ;  I  was  bred  at  a  country- 
school,  where  I  learned  Latin  and  Greek.  The 
misfortunes  of  my  family  Ibrced  me  up  to  town, 
where  a  profession  of  the  politer  sort  has  protected 
me  against  infamy  and  want.  I  am  now  clerk  to  a 
lawyer,  and,  in  times  of  vacancy  and  recess  from 
business,  have  made  myself  master  of  Italian  and 
French;  and  though  tlie  progress  I  have  made  in 
my  business  has  gained  me  reputation  enough  for 
one  of  my  standing,  yet  my  mind  suggests  to  me 
every  day,  that  it  is  not  upon  that  foundation  I  am 
to  build  my  fortune. 


NO.   481.  SPECTATOR.  73 

"  The  person  I  have  my  present  dependence  upon 
has  in  his  nature,  as  well  as  in  his  power,  to  ad- 
vance me,  by  recommending  me  to  a  gentleman 
that  is  going  beyond  sea  in  a  public  employment. 
I  know  the  printing  this  letter  would  point  me  out 
to  those  I  want  confidence  to  speak  to,  and  I  hope 
it  is  not  in  your  power  to  refuse  making  anybody 
happy. 

"  Your's,  &c. 
"  September  9,  1712."  "  M.  D." 

T 


No.  481.     THURSDAY,  SEPTEMBER  11,  1712. 


—  Uli  non 
Compositus  melius  cum  Bitho  Bacchius.    In  jus 
Acres  procwrunt. —  hok.  sat.  i.  7.  19. 

Who  shall  decide  when  doctors  disagree. 

And  soundest  casuists  doubt  like  you  and  me  ?     pope. 

It  is  sometimes  pleasant  enough  to  consider  the 
different  notions  which  different  persons  have  of  the 
same  thing.  If  men  of  low  condition  very  often  set 
a  value  on  things  which  are  not  prized  by  those 
who  are  in  a  higher  station  of  life,  there  are  many 
things  these  esteem  which  are  in  no  value  among 
persons  of  an  inferior  rank.  Common  people,  are 
in  particular,  very  much  astonished  when  they  hear 
of  those  solemn  contests  and  debates,  which  are 
made  among  the  great  upon  the  punctilios  of  a 
public  ceremony  ;  and  wonder  to  hear  that  any  busi- 


74  srECTATon.  xo.  4si. 

ness  of  con-jequcnce  should  be  retarded  by  those 
little  circumstances,  wliicli  they  represent  to  them- 
selves as  trifling  and  insigniticant.  I  am  mightily 
pleased  with  a  porter's  decision  in  one  of  Mr. 
Southern's  plays,  which  is  founded  upon  that  fine 
distress  of  a  virtuous  woman's  marrying  a  second 
husband,  while  her  first  was  yet  living.  The  first 
husband,  who  was  supposed  to  have  been  dead, 
returning  to  his  house,  after  a  long  absence,  raises  a 
noble  perplexity  for  the  tragic  part  of  the  play.  In 
the  meanwhile  the  nurse  and  the  porter  conferring 
upon  the  diiliculties  that  would  ensue  in  such  a  case, 
honest  Samson  thinks  the  matter  may  be  easily  de- 
cided, and  solves  it  very  judiciously  by  the  old  pro- 
verb, that,  if  his  first  master  be  still  living,  '  the 
man  must  have  his  mare  again.'  There  is  notiiing 
in  my  time  which  has  so  much  surprised  and  con- 
founded the  greatest  part  of  my  honest  countrymen, 
as  the  i)resent  controversy  between  Count  Rech- 
teren  and  Monsieur  Mesnager,  which  employs  the 
wise  heads  of  so  many  nations,  and  holds  all  the 
afiairs  of  Europe  in  suspense. 

Upon  ray  going  into  a  coffee-house  yesterday, 
and  lending  an  ear  to  the  next  table,  which  was  en- 
coin[)assed  with  a  circle  of  inferior  politicians,  one 
of  tiiem,  after  having  read  over  the  news  very  at- 
tentively, broke  out  into  tiie  following  remarks  :  '  I 
am  afraid,'  says  he,  'this  unhappy  rupture  between 
the  footmen  at  Utrecht  will  letard  the  peace  of 
Christendom.  I  wish  the  pope  may  not  be  at  the 
bottom  of  it.  His  holiness  has  a  very  good  iiand 
at  fomenting  a  division,  as  the  poor  Swiss  cantons 
have  lately  experienced  to  their  cost.  If  Monsieur 
Wliat-d'ye-call-him's  domestics  will  not  come  to  an 
accommodation,  I  do  not  know  how  the  quarrel  can 
be  ended  but  by  a  religious  war.' 


NO.   481. 


SPECTATOK.  75 


'  Why,  truly,'  says  a  wiseacre  that  sat  by  hirn, 
'  were  I  as  tlie  king  of  France,  I  would  scorn  to 
take  part  with  the  footmen  of  either  side :  here's 
all  the  business  of  Europe  stand  still,  because  Mon- 
sieur Mesnager's  man  has  had  his  head  broke.  If 
Count  Rectrum*  had  given  them  a  pot  of  ale  after 
it,  all  would  have  been  well,  without  any  of  this 
bustle;  but  they  say  he's  a  warm  man,  and  does  not 
care  to  be  made  mouths  at.' 

Upon  this,  one  that  had  held  his  tongue  hitherto 
began  to  exert  himself;  declaring,  '  that  he  was  very- 
well  pleased  the  plenipotentiaries  of  our  Christian 
princes  took  this  matter  into  their  serious  considera- 
tion ;  for  that  lackeys  were  never  so  saucy  and 
pragmatical  as  they  are  now-a-days,  and  that  he 
should  be  glad  to  see  them  taken  down  in  the  treaty 
of  peace,  if  it  might  be  done  without  prejudice  to 
the  public  affairs.' 

One  who  sat  at  the  other  end  of  the  table,  and 
seemed  to  be  in  the  interest  of  the  French  king, 
told  them,  that  they  did  not  take  the  matter  right, 
for  that  his  most  Christian  majesty  did  not  resent 
this  matter  because  it  was  an  injury  done  to  Mon- 
sieur Mesnager's  footman  ;  '  for,'  says  he, '  what  are 
Monsieur  Mesnager's  footmen  to  him  ?  but  because 
it  was  done  to  his  subjects.  Now,'  says  he,  Met  me 
tell  you,  it  would  look  very  odd  for  a  subject  of 
France  to  have  a  bloody  nose,  and  his  sovereign 
not  to  take  notice  of  it.  He  is  obliged  in  honour  to 
defend  his  people  against  hostilities  ;  and  if  the 
Dutch  will  be  so  insolent  to  a  crowned  head,  as  m 
any  wise  to  cuff  or  kick  those  who  are  under  his 
protection,  I  think  he  is  in  the  right  to  call  them  to 
ftn  account  for  it.' 


*  Count  Ecchteren. 


<6  SPECTATOR.  NO.    4.*1. 

Thi>  distinction  -<et  the  controvorsy  upon  a  new 
♦'oot,  and  seemevi  to  be  very  well  upproveil  by  inojit 
that  hear\i  it,  till  a  little  warm  fellow,  who  had  de- 
clareil  himself  a  friend  to  the  house  of  Austria,  fell 
most  unmercifully  upon  his  Gallic  Maje>ty,  as  en- 
counigingr  his  subjects  to  make  mouths  at  their  bet- 
ters, and  af-terwards  screening  them  from  the  punish- 
ment that  was  due  to  their  insolence.  To  which  he 
added,  that  the  French  nation  was  so  addicted  to 
"grimace,  that,  if  there  w;v5  not  a  stop  put  to  it  at  the 
general  (.HMigress,  there  v.ould  be  no  walking  the 
streets  for  them  in  a  time  of  jn-ace,  esj>ecially  if 
they  continued  luixsters  of  the  West  Indies.  The 
little  man  proceeiled  with  a  great  deal  of  warmth, 
declaring  that,  if  the  allies  were  of  his  mind,  he 
would  oblige  the  French  king  to  burn  his  g-alleys, 
and  tolertite  the  prv^testant  religion  in  his  dominions, 
before  he  would  sheath  his  sword.  He  concluded 
with  calling  Monsieur  Mesnager  an  insigniticant 
prig. 

The  dispute  w:vs  now  growing  very  warm,  and 
one  does  not  know  where  it  would  have  ended,  had 
not  a  young  man  of  about  one-and-twenty,  who 
seems  to  have  been  brought  up  with  an  eye  to  the 
law.  taken  the  debate  into  his  hand,  and  given  it  as 
his  opinion,  that  neither  Count  Rechteivn  nor  Mon- 
sieur Mesnager  had  behaved  themselves  right  in  this 
affair.  •  Count  Rechteren,'  s;iys  he,  "  should  have 
made  atftdavit  that  his  servants  had  been  atfiMiited, 
and  then  Monsieur  Mesnager  would  have  done  him 
justice,  by  taking  away  their  liveries  from  them,  or 
some  other  way  that  he  might  have  thought  the 
most  proi^Hjr :  for,  let  me  tell  you.  if  a  man  makes  a 
mouth  at  me,  I  am  not  to  knock  the  teeth  out  of  it 
for  his  pains.  Then  again,  tis  for  Monsieur  Mes- 
nager. upon  his  servants  being  beaten,  why.  he  m\ght 


NO.    482.  SPECTATOR.  77 

have  had  his  action  for  assault  and  battery.  But 
as  the  ca.se  now  stands,  if  you  will  have  my  opinion, 
I  think  they  ought  to  bring  it  to  referees. 

I  heard  a  gi'eat  deal  more  of  this  conference,  but 
I  must  confess  with  little  edification  ;  for  all  I  could 
learn  at  last  from  these  honest  gentlemen  was,  thiat 
the  matter  in  debate  was  of  too  high  a  nature  for 
such  heads  as  theirs,  or  mine,  to  comprehend. 

0 


No.  482.     FRIDAY,  SEPTEMBEE  12,   1712. 


Floriferis  vt  apts  in  saliSnis  omnia  Ubartt. 

LUCE.  iiL  11. 

As  from  the  sweetest  flower  the  lab'ring  bee 
Extracts  her  precious  sweets. —  ceeech. 

When  I  have  published  any  single  paper  that  falls 
in  with  the  popular  taste,  and  pleases  more  than 
ordinary,  it  always  brings  me  in  a  great  return  of 
letters.  My  Tuesday's  discourse,  wherein  I  gave 
several  admonitions  to  the  fraternity  of  the  hen- 
pecked, has  already  produced  me  very  many  corre- 
spondents ;  the  reason  I  cannot  guess  at,  unless  it 
be,  that  such  a  discourse  is  of  general  use,  and  every 
married  man's  money.  An  honest  tradesman,  who 
dates  his  letter  from  Cheapside,  sends  me  thanks  in 
the  name  of  a  club,  who,  he  tells  me,  meet  as  often 
as  their  wives  will  give  them  leave,  and  stay  toge- 
ther till  they  are  sent  for  home.  He  informs  me, 
that  my  paper  has  administered  great  consolation  to 


78  SPECTATOll. 


NO.    483. 


their  wliole  clul),  and  desires  me  to  give  some  fur- 
ther account  of  Socrates,  and  to  ac([iiaint  them  in 
whose  reign  he  Hved,  whether  lie  was  a  citizen  or  a 
courtier,  whether  he  buried  Xantippe,  with  many 
other  particuhirs ;  for  that,  by  his  sayings,  he  ap- 
pears to  have  been  a  very  wise  man,  ami  a  good 
Christian.  Another,  who  writes  himself  Benjamin 
Bamboo,  tells  me  that,  being  coupled  with  a  slirew, 
he  had  endeavoured  to  tame  her  by  such  lawful 
means  as  those  which  I  mentioned  in  my  last  Tues- 
day's paper,  and  that  in  his  wrath  he  had  often  gone 
further  than  Bracton  allows  in  those  cases ;  but 
that  for  the  future  he  was  resolved  to  bear  it  like 
a  man  of  temper  and  learning,  and  consider  her  only 
as  one  who  lives  in  iiis  house  to  teach  him  philoso- 
phy. Tom  Dapperwit  says,  that  he  agrees  Mith me 
in  that  wliole  discourse,  excepting  only  the  last  sen- 
tence, vvliere  I  aflirm  the  married  state  to  be  either 
a  heaven  or  a  hell.  Tom  has  been  at  the  charge 
of  a  penny  upon  this  occasion  to  tell  me,  that  by 
his  experience  it  is  neither  one  nor  the  other,  but 
rather  tiiat  middle  kind  of  state,  commonly  known 
by  the  name  of  purgatory. 

The  fair  sex  have  likewise  oblig<;d  me  with  their 
reflections  upon  the  same  discourse.  A  lady,  who 
calls  herself  Euterpe,  and  seems  a  woman  of  letters, 
asks  me  whether  I  am  for  establishing  the  Salic  law 
in  every  family,  and  why  it  is  not  fit  tiiat  a  woman 
who  has  discretion  and  learning  should  sit  at  the 
helm,  when  the  husband  is  weak  and  illiterate  ? 
Another,  of  a  quite  contrary  character,  subscribes 
herself  Xantippe,  and  tells  me  that  she  follows  the 
examj)le  of  her  namesake  ;  for  being  married  to  a 
bookish  man,  who  has  no  knowledge  of  the  world, 
she  is  forced  to  take  their  affairs  into  her  own  hands. 


NO.    482.  SPECTATOR.  79 

and  to  spirit  him  up  now  and  then,  that  he  may  not 
grow  musty,  and  unfit  for  conversation. 

After  this  abridgment  of  some  letters  which  are 
come  to  my  hands  upon  this  occasion,  I  shall  publish 
one  of  them  at  large. 

"  MR.    SPECTATOR, 

"  You  have  given  us  a  lively  picture  of  that  kind 
of  husband  who  comes  under  the  denomination  of 
the  hen-pecked ;  but  1  do  not  remember  that  you 
have  ever  touched  upon  one  that  is  of  quite  the  dif- 
ferent character,  and  who,  in  several  places  of  Eng- 
land, goes  by  the  name  of  '  a  cot-queen.'  1  have 
the  misfortune  to  be  joined  for  life  with  one  of  this 
character,  who  in  reality  is  more  a  woman  than  I 
am.  He  was  bred  up  under  the  tuition  of  a  tender 
mother,  till  she  had  made  him  as  good  a  housewife 
as  herself  He  could  preserve  apricots,  and  make 
jellies,  before  he  had  been  two  years  out  of  the 
nursery.  He  was  never  suffered  to  go  abroad,  for 
fear  of  catching  cold  :  when  he  should  have  been 
hunting  down  a  buck,  he  was  by  his  mother's  side 
learning  how  to  season  it,  or  put  it  in  crust ;  and 
was  making  paper  boats  with  his  sisters,  at  an  age 
when  other  young  gentlemen  are  crossing  the  seas, 
or  travelling  into  foreign  countries.  He  has  the 
whitest  hand  that  you  ever  saw  in  your  life,  and 
raises  paste  better  than  any  woman  in  England. 
These  qualifications  make  him  a  sad  husband.  Pie 
is  perpetually  in  the  kitchen,  and  has  a  thousand 
squabbles  with  the  cook-maid.  He  is  better  ac- 
quainted with  the  milk-score  than  his  steward's  ac- 
counts. I  fret  to  death  when  I  hear  him  find  fault 
with  a  dish  that  is  not  dressed  to  his  liking,  and  in- 
structing his  friends  that  dine  with  him  in  the  best 
pickle  for  a  walnut,  or  sauce  for  a  haunch  of  veui- 


80  SPECTATOR.  NO.    483. 

son.  Willi  all  this  he  is  u  very  good-natured  hus- 
biind,  and  never  tell  out  with  ine  in  his  life  but  once, 
upon  tlie  over-roasting  of  a  dish  of  wild  fowl.  At 
the  same  time  I  must  own,  I  would  rather  he  was 
a  man  of  a  rough  temper,  that  would  treat  me 
harshly  sometimes,  than  of  such  an  ett'eminate  busy 
nature,  in  a  province  that  does  not  belong  to  him. 
Since  you  have  given  us  the  character  of  a  wife  who 
wears  the  breeches,  pray  say  something  of  a  hus- 
band that  wears  the  petticoat.  Why  should  not  a 
female  character  be  as  ridiculous  in  a  man,  as  a  male 
character  in  one  of  our  sex  ? 

O  "1  am,"  &;c. 


No.  483.     SATURDAY,  SEPTEMBER  13,  1712. 


Nee  deus  intersit,  nisi  diynus  viudice  nodus 

Incident. —  _  noK.  ars  poet.  191. 

Never  presume  to  make  a  god  appear, 

But  for  a  business  worthy  of  a  god.  roscomhom. 

We  cannot  be  guilty  of  a  greater  act  of  unchari- 
tableness  than  to  interpret  the  afflictions  which  be- 
fell our  neighbours  as  punishments  and  judgments. 
It  aggravates  the  evil  to  him  who  suflers,  when  he 
looks  upon  himself  as  the  mark  of  divine  vengeance, 
and  abates  the  compassion  of  those  towards  him 
who  regard  him  in  so  dreadful  a  light.  This  hu- 
mour, of  turning  every  misfortiuie  into  a  judgment, 
proceeds  from  wrong  notions  of  religion,  which  in 
its  ow  n  nature  produces  good-will  towards  men,  and 


NO.   483.  SPECTATOR.  81 

puts  the  mildest  construction  upon  every  accident 
that  befalls  them.  In  this  case,  therefore,  it  is  not 
religion  that  sours  a  man's  temper,  but  it  is  his 
temper  that  sours  his  religion.  People  of  gloomy, 
uncheerf'ul  imaginations,  or  of  envious  malignant 
tempers,  whatever  kind  of  life  they  are  engaged  in, 
will  discover  their  natural  tincture  of  mind  in  all 
their  thoughts,  words,  and  actions.  As  the  finest 
wines  have  often  the  taste  of  the  soil,  so  even  the 
most  religious  thoughts  often  draw  something  that 
is  particular,  ft-om  the  constitution  of  the  mind  in 
which  they  arise.  When  folly  or  superstition  strike 
in  with  this  natural  depravity  of  temper,  it  is  not  in 
the  power,  even  of  religion  itself,  to  preserve  the 
character  of  the  person  who  is  possessed  with  it  from 
appearing  highly  absurd  and  ridiculous. 

An  old  maiden  gentlewoman,  whom  I  shall  con- 
ceal under  the  name  of  Nemesis,  is  the  greatest  dis- 
coverer of  judgments  that  I  have  met  with.  She 
can  tell  you  what  sin  it  was  that  set  such  a  man's 
house  on  fire,  or  blew  down  his  barns.  Talk  to  her 
of  an  unfortunate  young  lady  that  lost  her  beauty 
by  the  small-pox,- she  fetches  a  deep  sigh,  and  tells 
you,  that  when  she  had  a  fine  face  she  was  always 
looking  on  it  in  her  glass.  Tell  her  of  a  piece  of 
good  fortune  that  has  befallen  one  of  her  acquaint- 
ance, and  she  wishes  it  may  prosper  with  her,  but 
her  mother  used  one  of  her  nieces  very  barbarously. 
Her  usual  remarks  turn  upon  people  who  had  great 
estates,  but  never  enjoyed  .them  by  reason  of  some 
flaw  in  their  own  or  their  father's  behaviour.  She 
can  give  you  the  reason  w'hy  such  an  one  died  child- 
less ;  why  such  an  one  was  cut  off  in  the  flower  of 
his  youth ;  why  such  an  one  was  unhappy  in  her 
mai-riage ;  why  one  broke  his  leg  on  such  a  parti- 
cular spot  of  ground ;  and  why  another  was  killed 

VOL.    XI.  6 


82  SPECTATOR.  NO.   483. 

with  a  back-sword,  rather  than  with  any  other  kind 
of  weapon.  She  has  a  crime  tor  every  misfortune 
that  can  befall  any  of  her  acquaintance ;  and  when 
she  liears  of  a  robbery  that  has  been  made,  or  a 
murder  tiiat  has  been  committed,  enhirges  more  on 
the  guilt  of  the  sutfering  person,  than  on  that  of  the 
thief,  or  the  assassin.  In  short,  she  is  so  good  a  Ciiris- 
tian,  that  whatever  happens  to  herself  is  a  trial,  and 
whatever  happens  to  her  neighbours  is  a  jmlgment. 
The  very  description  of  this  folly,  inordinary  life, 
is  sufficient  to  expose  it ;  but,  when  it  appears  in  a 
pomp  and  dignity  of  style,  it  is  very  apt  to  amuse 
and  terrify  the  mind  of  the  reader.  Herodotus  and 
Plutarch  very  often  apply  their  judgments  as  im[)er- 
tinently  as  the  old  woman  I  have  before  mentioned, 
though  their  manner  of  relating  them  makes  the 
folly  itself  appear  venerable.  Indeed,  most  histo- 
rians, as  well  Christian  as  pagan,  have  fallen  into 
this  idle  superstition,  and  spoken  of  ill  success,  un- 
foreseen disasters,  and  terrible  events,  as  if  they  had 
been  let  into  the  secrets  of  Providence,  and  made 
acquainted  with  that  private  conduct  by  which  the 
world  is  governed.  One  would  think  several  of 
our  own  historians  in  particular  had  many  revela- 
tions of  this  kind  made  to  them.  Our  old  English 
monks  seldom  let  any  of  their  kings  depart  in  peace, 
who  had  endeavoured  to  diminish  the  power  or 
wealth  of  which  the  ecclesiastics  were  in  those  times 
possessed.  William  the  Conqueror's  race  generally 
found  their  judgments  in  the  New  Forest,  where 
their  father  had  i»ulled  down  churches  and  monas- 
teries. In  short,  read  one  of  the  chronicles  written 
by  an  author  of  this  frame  of  mind,  and  you  would 
think  you  were  reading  a  history  of  the  kings  of 
Israel  or  Judali,  where  the  historians  were  actually 
inspired,  and  where,  by  a  particular  scheme  of  Pro- 


NO.   483.  SPECTATOR.  83 

vidence,  the  kings  were  distinguished  by  judgments, 
or  blessings,  according  as  they  promoted  idolatry, 
or  the  worship  of  the  true  God. 

I  cannot  but  look  upon  this  manner  of  judo-inf 
upon  misfortunes,  not  only  to  be  very  uncharitable 
in  regard  to  the  person  on  whom  they  fall,  but  very 
presumptuous  in  regard  to  him  who  is  supposed  to 
inflict  them.  It  is  a  strong  argument  for  a  state  of 
retribution  hereafter,  that  in  this  world  virtuous 
persons  are  very  often  unfortunate,  and  vicious  per- 
sons prosperous  ;  which  is  wholly  repugnant  to  the 
nature  of  a  Being  who  appears  infinitely  wise  and 
good  in  all  his  works,  unless  we  may  suppose  that 
such  a  promiscuous  and  undistinguishing  distribu- 
tion of  good  and  evil,  which  was  necessary  for  car- 
rying on  the  designs  of  Providence  in  this  life,  will 
be  rectified,  and  made  amends  for,  in  another.  We 
are  not  therefore  to  expect  that  fire  should  fall  from 
heaven  in  the  ordinary  course  of  Providence ;  nor, 
when  we  see  triumphant  guilt  or  depressed  virtue 
in  particular  persons,  that  Omnipotence  will  make 
bare  his  holy  arm  in  the  defence  of  the  one,  or 
punishment  of  the  other.  It  is  suflftcient  that  there 
is  a  day  set  apart  for  the  hearing  and  requiting  of 
both,  according  to  their  respective  mei-its. 

The  folly  of  ascribing  temporal  judgments  to  any 
particular  crimes,  may  appear  from  several  consi- 
derations. I  shall  only  mention  two.  First,  that, 
generally  speaking,  there  is  no  calamity  or  affliction, 
which  is  supposed  to  have  happened  as  a  judgment 
to  a  vicious  man,  which  does  not  sometimes  happen 
to  men  of  approved  religion  and  virtue.  When 
Diagoras  the  atheist  was  on  board  one  of  the  Athe- 
nian ships,  there  arose  a  very  violent  tempest :  upon 
which,  the  mariners  told  him,  that  it  was  a  just 
judgment  upon  them  for  having  taken  so  impious  a 


84  SPECTATOR.  NO,    483. 

man  on  board.  Diagoras  begged  them  to  look 
upon  the  rest  of  tlie  ships  that  were  in  the  same 
distress,  and  asked  them  whether  or  no  Diagoras 
was  on  board  every  vessel  in  the  fleet.  We  are  all 
involved  in  the  same  calamities,  and  subject  to  the 
same  accidents  :  and,  when  \vc  see  any  one  of"  the 
species  under  any  particular  oppi'ession,  we  should 
look  upon  it  as  arising  from  the  common  lot  of"  hu- 
man nature,  rather  than  from  the  guilt  of  the  per- 
son who  suffers. 

Another  consideration,  that  may  check  our  pre- 
sumption in  putting  such  a  construction  upon  a  mis- 
fortune, is  this,  that  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  know 
what  are  calamities  and  what  are  blessings.  How 
many  accidents  have  passed  for  misfortunes,  which 
have  turned  to  the  welfare  and  prosperity  of  the 
persons  to  whose  lot  they  have  fallen  !  How  many 
disappointments  have,  in  their  consequences,  saved 
a  man  from  ruin !  If  we  could  look  into  the  effects 
of  every  thing,  we  might  be  allowed  to  pronounce 
boldly  upon  blessings  and  judgments  ;  but  for  a  man 
to  give  his  opinion  of  what  he  sees  but  in  part,  and 
in  its  beginnings,  is  an  unjustifiable  piece  of  rash- 
ness and  folly.  The  story  of  Biton  and  Clitobus, 
which  was  in  great  reputation  among  the  heathens, 
for  we  see  it  quoted  by  all  the  ancient  authors, 
both  Greek  and  Latin,  who  have  written  upon  the 
immortality  of  the  soul,  may  teach  us  a  caution  in 
this  matter.  These  two  brothers,  being  the  sons  of 
a  lady  who  was  priestess  to  Juno,  drew  their  mo- 
ther's chariot  to  the  temple  at  the  time  of  a  great 
solemnity,  the  persons  being  absent  who,  by  their 
office,  were  to  have  drawn  her  chariot  on  that  occa- 
sion. The  mother  was  so  transported  with  this  in- 
stance of  filial  duty,  that  she  petitioned  her  goddess 
to  bestow  upon  them  the  greatest  gift  that  could  be 


NO.   484.  SPECTATOR.  85 

given  to  men  ;  upon  which  they  were  both  cast  into 
a  deep  sleep,  and  the  next  morning  found  dead  in 
the  temple.  This  was  such  an  event  as  would  have 
been  construed  into  a  judgment,  had  it  happened  to 
the  two  brothers  after  an  act  of  disobedience,  and 
would  doutless  have  been  represented  as  such  by 
any  ancient  historian  who  had  given  us  an  account 
of  it. 

0 


No.  484.     MONDAY,  SEPTEMBER,  15,  1712. 


Neque  cuiquam  tarn  statim  clarum  ingenium  est,  itt  possit  emergere ; 
nisi  illi  materia,  occasio,  fauior  etiam,  commendatorque  contingat. 


EPIST. 


Nor  has  any  one  so  bright  a  genius  as  to  become  illustrious  in- 
stantaneously, unless  it  fortunately  meets  with  occasion  and 
employment,  with  patronage  too,  and  commendation. 

"  MR.    SPECTATOR, 

"  Of  all  the  young  fellows  who  are  in  their  pro- 
gress through  any  profession,  none  seem  to  have  so 
good  a  title  to  the  protection  of  the  men  of  eminence 
in  it,  as  the  modest  man  ;  not  so  much  because  his 
modesty  is  a  certain  indication  of  his  merit,  as  be- 
cause it  is  a  certain  obstacle  to  the  producing  of  it. 
Now,  as  of  all  professions  this  virtue  is  thought  to 
be  more  particularly  unnecessary  in  that  of  the  law 
than  in  any  other,  I  shall  only  apply  myself  to  the 
relief  of  such  who  follow  this  profession  with  this 
disadvantage.  What  aggravates  the  matter  is,  that 
those  persons  who,  the  better  to  prepare  themselves 


86  SPECTATOR.  NO.    484. 

for  this  stud}',  have  mafic  some  progress  in  others, 
have,  by  addicting  themselves  to  letters,  increased 
their  natural  modesty,  and  consequently  heightened 
the  obstruction  to  this  sort  of  ]ireferment ;  so  that 
every  one  of  these  may  em[)hatically  be  said  to  be 
such  a  one  as  '  laboureth  and  taketh  pains,  and  is 
still  the  more  behind.'  It  may  be  a  matter  worth 
discussing,  then,  why  that,  wliioh  made  a  youth 
so  amiable  to  the  ancients  should  make  him  appear 
so  ridiculous  to  the  moderns  ?  and  why,  in  our  days, 
there  should  be  neglect,  and  even  oppression  of 
young  beginners,  instead  of  that  protection  which 
was  the  pride  of  theirs?  In  the  profession  spoken 
of  it  is  obvious,  to  every  one  whose  attendance  is 
required  at  "Westminster-hall,  with  what  difficulty  a 
youth  of  any  modesty  has  been  permitted  to  make 
an  observation,  that  could  in  no  wise  detract  from 
the  merit  of  his' elders,  and  is  absolutely  necessary 
for  the  advancing  his  own.  I  have  often  seen  one 
of  these  not  only  molested  in  his  utterance  of  some- 
thing very  pertinent,  but  even  plundered  of  his 
question,  and  by  a  strong  sergeant  shouldered  out 
of  his  rank,  which  he  has  I'ecovered  with  much  diffi- 
culty and  confusion.  Now,  as  great  part  of  the  bu- 
siness of  this  profession  might  be  despatched  by  one 
that  perliaps 

— Abest  virtute  diserti 
Messalm,  nee  scit  quantum  Cascellius  Aulus. 

HOK.  ARS  roET.  370. 

— Wants  Messala's  powerful  eloquence, 
And  is  less  read  than  deep  Cascellius.        koscommon. 

SO  I  cannot  conceive  the  injustice  done  to  the  pub- 
lic, if  the  men  of  reputation  in  this  calling  would  in- 
ti"oduce  such  of  the  young  ones  into  business,  whose 
application  to  this  study  will  let  them  into  the  se- 


NO.   484.  SPECTATOR.  87 

crets  of  it,  as  much  as  their  modesty  will  hinder 
them  from  the  practice ;  I  say,  it  would  be  laying- 
an  everlasting  obligation  upon  a  young  man,  to  be- 
introduced  at  first  only  as  a  mute,  lill  by  this  coun- 
tenance, and  a  resolution  to  support  the  good  opinion 
conceived  of  him  in  his  betters,  his  complexion  shall 
be  so  well  settled,  that  the  litigious  of  this  island 
may  be  secure  of  his  obstreperous  aid.  If  I  might 
be  indulged  to  speak  in  the  style  of  a  lawyer,  I 
would  say,  that  any  one  about  thirty  years  of  age 
might  make  a  common  motion  to  the  court  with  as 
much  elegance  and  propriety  as  the  most  aged  ad- 
vocates in  the  hall. 

"  I  cannot  advance  the  merit  of  modesty  by  any 
argument  of  my  own  so  powerfully  as  by  inquiring 
into  the  sentiments  the  greatest  among  the  ancients 
of  different  ages  entertained  upon  this  virtue.  If 
we  go  back  to  the  days  of  Solomon,  we  shall  find 
favour  a  necessary  consequence  to  a  shamefaced 
man.  Pliny,  the  greatest  lawyer  and  most  elegant 
writer  of  the  age  he  lived  in,  in  several  of  his  epis- 
tles is  very  solicitous  in  recommending  to  the  public 
some  young  men  of  his  own  profession,  and  very 
often  undertakes  to  become  an  advocate,  upon  con- 
dition that  some  one  of  these  his  favourites  might 
be  joined  with  him,  in  order  to  produce  the  merit 
of  such,  whose  modesty  otherwise  would  have  sup- 
pressed it.  It  may  seem  very  marvellous  to  a  saucy 
modern,  that  multum  sanguinis,  multum  verecundi(E, 
multum  sollicitudines  in  ore  ;  to  have  the  '  face  first 
full  of  blood,  then  the  countenance  dashed  with  mo- 
desty, and  then  the  whole  aspect  as  of  one  dying 
with  fear,  when  a  man  begins  to  speak  ;'  should  be 
esteemed  by  Pliny  the  necessary  qualifications  of  a 
fine  speaker.  Shakspeare  also  has  expressed  himself 
in  the  same  favourable  strain  of  modesty,  when  he 
says, 


88  Sl'ECTATOU.  NO.   484. 

— Ill  tlie  modesty  of  feiirful  duty 
I  read  as  much  as  from  the  rattling  tongue 
Of  saucy  and  audacious  eloqueuce. — 

"  Now,  since  these  authors  have  professed  them- 
selves for  the  modest  man,  even  in  the  utmost  con- 
fusions of  speech  and  countenance,  wliy  should  an 
intrepid  utterance  and  a  resolute  vociferation  thun- 
der so  successfully  in  our  courts  of  ju.-tice  ?  And 
why  should  that  conlidence  of  speech  and  behaviour, 
which  seems  to  acknowledge  no  superior,  and  to 
defy  all  contradiction,  prevail  over  that  deference 
and  resignation  with  which  the  modest  man  im- 
plores that  favourable  oinnion  which  the  other  seems 
to  command  ? 

"As  tlie  case  at  present  stands,  the  best  consola- 
tion that  I  can  administer,  to  those  who  cannot  get 
into  that  stroke  of  business,  as  the  phrase  is,  which 
they  deserve,  is  to  reckon  every  [)articular  acqui- 
^ition  of  knowledge  in  this  study  as  a  real  increase 
of  their  fortune  ;  and  fully  to  believe,  tliat  one  day 
this  imaginary  gain  will  certainly  be  made  out,  by 
one  more  substantial.  I  wish  you  would  talk  to  us 
a  little  on  this  head  ;  you  will  oblige, 

"  Sir, 
•"  Your  luimble  servant." 

The  author  of  this  letter  is  certaiidy  a  man  of 
good  sense  ;  but  I  am  perha[)S  particular  in  my 
opinion  on  this  occasion  ;  for  I  have  observed  that, 
under  the  notion  of  modesty,  men  have  indulged 
themselves  in  a  spiritless  sheepishness,  and  been 
forever  lost  to  themselves,  their  families,  their 
friends,  and  their  country.  When  a  man  has  taken 
care  to  pretend  to  nothing  but  what  he  may  justly 
aim  at,  and  can  execute  as  well  as  any  other,  with- 
out injustice  to  any  other,  it   is  ever  want  of  breed- 


XO.    -iSi.  Si'KCTATOR.  89 

iDg,  or  courage,  to  be  brow-beateu,  or  elbowed  out 
of  his  honest  ambition.  I  have  said  often,  modesty 
must  be  an  act  of  tlie  will,  and  yet  it  always  im- 
plies self-denial ;  for,  if  a  man  has  an  ardent  desire 
to  do  what  is  laudable  for  him  to  perform,  and  from 
an  unmanly  bashfulness  shrinks  away,  and  lets  his 
merit  languish  in  silence,  he  ought  not  to  be  angry 
at  the  world  that  a  more  unskilful  actor  succeeds  in 
his  part,  because  he  has  not  confidence  to  come  upon 
the  stage  himself.  The  generosity  my  correspond- 
ent mentions  of  Pliny  cannot  be  enough  applauded. 
To  cherish  the  dawn  of  merit,  and  hasten  its  ma- 
turity, was  a  work  worthy  a  noble  Roman,  and  a 
liberal  scholar.  That  concern  which  is  described  in 
the  letter,  is  to  all  the  world  the  gi-eatest  charm 
imaginable  ;  but  then  the  modest  man  must  proceed, 
and  show  a  latent  resolution  in  himself;  for  the  ad- 
miration of  modesty  arises  from  the  manifestation 
of  his  merit.  I  must  confess  we  live  in  an  age 
wherein  a  few  empty  blustei-ers  carry  away  the 
praise  of  speaking,  while  a  crowd  of  fellows  over- 
stocked with  knowledge  are  run  down  by  them ; 
I  say  overstocked,  because  they  certainly  are  so,  as 
to  their  service  of  mankind,  if  from  their  very  store 
they  raise  to  themselves  ideas  of  respect,  and  great- 
ness of  the  occasion,  and  I  know  not  what,  to  dis- 
able themselves  from  explaining  their  thoughts.  I 
must  confess,  when  I  have  seen  Charles  Frankair 
rise  up  with  a  commanding  mien,  and  torrent  of 
handsome  words,  talk  a  mile  off  the  purpose,  and 
drive  down  twenty  bashful  boobies  of  ten  times  his 
sense,  who  at  the  same  time  were  envying  his  im- 
pudence, and  despising  his  understanding,  it  has 
been  matter  of  great  mirth  to  me  ;  but  it  soon  ended 
in  a  secret  lamentation,  that  the  fountains  of  every 
thing    praiseworthy   in    these   realms,   the    uuiver- 


90  SPECTATOIJ.  NO.   485. 

sities,  should  be  so  mudded  with  a  false  sense  of 
this  virtue,  as  to  produce  men  capable  of  being 
so  abused.  I  will  be  bold  to  say,  that  it  is  a  ridi- 
culous education  which  does  not  qualify  a  man  to 
make  his  best  appearance  before  the  greatest  man, 
and  the  finest  woman,  to  whom  he  can  address  him- 
self. Were  this  judiciously  corrected  in  the  nur- 
series of  learning,  pert  coxcombs  would  know  their 
distance  ;  but  we  must  bear  with  this  false  modesty 
in  our  young  nobility  and  genti-y,  till  they  cease  at 
Oxford  and  Cambridge  to  grow  dumb  in  the  study 
of  eloquence. 
T 


No.  485.     TUESDAY,  SEPTEMBER  16,  1712. 


NikU  tarn  firmum  est,  cui  periculam  non  sit  etiam  ab  invalido. 

QUINT.    CUET.   vii.    8. 

The  strongest  things  are  not  so  well  established  as  to  be  out  of 
danger  from  the  weakest. 

"  MR.    SPECTATOR, 

"  My  Lord  Clarendon  has  observed,  that  few  men 
have  done  more  harm  than  those  who  have  been 
thouglit  to  be  able  to  do  least ;  and  there  cannot  be 
a  greater  error,  than  to  believe  a  man,  whom  we  see 
qualified  with  too  mean  parts  to  do  good,  to  be  there- 
fore incapable  of  doing  hurt.  There  is  a  supply  of 
malice,  of  pride,  of  industry,  and  even  of  folly,  in 
the  weakest,  when  he  sets  his  heart  upon  it,  that 
makes  a  strange  progress  in  mischief.     What  may 


NO.   485.  SPECTATOR.  91 

seem  to  the  reader  the  greatest  paradox  in  the 
reflection  of  the  historian  is,  I  suppose,  tiiat  folly, 
which  is  generally  thought  incapable  of  contriving 
or  executing  an.y  design,  should  be  so  formidable  to 
those  whom  it  exerts  itself  to  molest.  But  this  will 
appear  very  plain,  if  we  remember  that  Solomon 
says,  'It  is  a  sport  to  a  fool  to  do  mischief;'  and 
that  he  might  the  more  emphatically  express  the 
calamitous  circumstances  of  him  that  falls  under 
the  displeasure  of  this  wanton  person,  the  same 
author  adds  further,  that  '  A  stone  is  heavy,  and 
the  sand  weighty,  but  a  fool's  wrath  is  heavier  than 
them  both.'  It  is  impossible  to  suppress  my  own 
illustration  upon  this  matter,  which  is,  that  as  the 
man  of  sagacity  bestirs  himself  to  distress  his  ene- 
my by  methods  probable  and  reducible  to  reason,  so 
the  same  reason  will  fortify  his  enemy  to  elude  these 
his  regular  efforts  ;  but  your  fool  projects,  acts,  and 
concludes,  with  such  notable  inconsistency,  that  no 
regular  course  of  thought  can  evade  or  counterplot 
his  prodigious  machinations.  My  frontispiece,  I 
believe,  may  be  extended  to  imply,  that  several  of 
our  misfortunes  arise  from  things,  as  well  as  persons, 
that  seem  of  very  little  consequence.  Into  what 
tragical  extravagancies  does  Shakspeare  hurry 
Otliello,  upon  the  loss  of  a  handkerchief  only  !  And 
what  barbarities  does  Desdemona  suffer,  from  a 
sHght  inadvertency  in  regard  to  this  fatal  trifle  !  If 
the  schemes  of  all  the  enterprising  spirits  were  to 
be  carefully  examined,  some  intervening  accident, 
not  considerable  enough  to  occasion  any  debate  upon, 
or  give  them  any  apprehension  of  ill  consequence 
from  it.  will  be  found  to  be  the  occasion  of  their  ill 
success,  rather  than  any  error  in  points  of  moment 
and  ditficulty,  which  naturally  engaged  their  matur- 
est  deliberations.     If  you  go  to  the  levee  of  any 


92  SPKCTATOU.  NO.    485 

great  man,  you  will  observe  him  exceeding  gracious 
to  several  verj  insignificant  fellows ;  and  tliis  upon 
this  maxim,  that  the  neglect  of  any  person  must 
arise  from  the  mean  opinion  you  have  of  his  caiKi- 
city  to  do  you  any  service  or  prejudice;  and  that 
this  calling  his  sutiiciency  in  question  must  give  him 
inclination,  and  where  this  is  there  never  wants 
strength  or  oi)portiniity,  to  annoy  you.  There  is 
nobody  so  weak  of  invention,  that  cannot  aggravate, 
or  make  some  little  stories  to  vilify  his  enemy  ;  and 
there  are  very  Yew  but  have  good  inclinations  to 
hear  them  ;  and  it  is  infinite  pleasure  to  the  major- 
ity of  mankind  to  level  a  person  superior  to  his 
neigiibours.  Besides,  in  all  matters  of  controversy, 
that  party  which  has  the  greatest  abilities  labours 
under  this  prejudice,  that  he  will  certainly  be  sup- 
posed, upon  account  of  his  abilities,  to  have  done  an 
injury,  when  jierhaps  he  has  received  one.  It  would 
be  tedious  to  enumerate  the  strokes  that  nations  and 
particular  friends  have  suffered,  from  persons  very 
contemptible. 

'*  I  think  Henry  IV.  of  France,  so  formidable  to 
his  neighbours,  could  no  more  be  secured  against 
the  resolute  villany  of  Ravillac,  than  Villiers  Duke 
of  Buckingham  could  be  against  that  of  Felton.  And 
there  is  no  incensed  person  so  destitute,  but  can  pro- 
vide himself  with  a  knife  or  a  pistol,  if  he  finds  sto- 
mach to  apply  them.  That  things  and  jjcrsons  of 
,  no  moment  should  give  sucii  powerful  revolutions 
to  the  progress  of  those  of  the  greatest  seems  a  pro- 
vidential disposition  to  battle  and  abate  the  pride  of 
human  sufficiency;  as  also  to  engage  the  humanity 
and  benevolence  of  superiors  to  all  below  them,  by 
letting  them  into  this  s(.'cret.  that  the  stronger  de- 
pends u[)on  the  weaker. 

'•I  am.  Sir, 

"  Your  very  humble  servant." 


NO.   485.  SPECTATOR.  93 


"DEAR   SIR, 

"  I  received  a  letter  from  you  some  time  ago, 
which  I  should  have  answered  sooner,  had  you  in- 
formed me  in  yours  to  what  part  of  this  island  I 
might  have  directed  my  impertinence ;  but,  having 
been  let  into  the  knowledge  of  that  matter,  this 
handsome  excuse  is  no  longer  serviceable.  My 
neighbour  Prettyman  shall,  be  the  subject  of  this 
letter;  who,  faUing  in  with  the  Spectator's  doctrine 
concerning  the  month  of  May,  began  from  that 
season  to  dedicate  himself  to  the  service  of  the  fair, 
in  the  following  manner.  I  observed  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  month  he  bought  him  a  new  nightgown, 
either  side  to  be  worn  outwards,  both  equally  gor- 
geous and  attractive  ;  but  till  the  end  of  the  month, 
I  did  not  enter  so  fully  into  the  knowledge  of  his 
contrivance,  as  the  use  of  that  garment  has  since 
suggested  to  me.  Now  you  must  know,  that  all 
new  clothes  raise  and  warm  the  wearer's  imagina- 
tion into  a  conceit  of  his  being  a  much  finer  gentle- 
man than  he'  was  before,  banishing  all  sobriety  and 
reflection,  and  giving  him  up  to  gallantry  and  amour. 
Inflamed  therefore  with  this  way  of  thinking,  and 
full  of  the  spirit  of  the  month  of  May,  did  this  mer- 
ciless youth  resolve  upon  the  business  of  captivat- 
ing. At  first  he  confined  himself  to  his  room,  only 
now  and  then  appearing  at  his  window,  in  his  night- 
gown, and  practising  that  easy  posture  which  ex- 
presses the  very  top  and  dignity  of  languishment. 
It  was  pleasant  to  see  him  diversify  his  loveliness, 
sometimes  obliging  the  passengers  only  with  a  side- 
face,  with  a  book  in  his  hand ;  sometimes  being  so 
generous  as  to  expose  the  whole  in  the  fulness  of  its 
beauty;  at  other  times,  by  a  judicious  throwing 
back  his  periwig,  he  would  throw  in  his  ears.     You 


94  SPKCTATOU.  NO.   4fc5 

know  lie  is  that  sort  of  person  wliicli  tlie  mob  call  a 
liundsoine  jolly  man;  whicli  appearance  cainiot  miss 
of"  captives  in  this  \nivt  of  the  town.  Being  embold- 
ened by  daily  success,  he  leaves  his  room  with  a 
resolution  to  extend  his  conquests;  and  1  have  ap- 
prehended him  in  his  nightgown  smiting  in  all  parts 
of  this  neighbourhood. 

"This  I,  being  of  an  amorous  complexion,  saw 
with  indignation,  and  had  thoughts  of  purchasing  a 
wig  in  these  parts  ;  into  which,  being  at  a  greater 
distance  from  the  eartli,  I  might  have  thrown  a  very 
liberal  mixture  of  white  horse-hair,  which  would 
make  a  fairer,  and  consequently  a  handsomer  ap- 
pearance, while  my  situation  would  secure  me  against 
any  discoveries.  But  the  passion  of  the  handsome 
gentleman  seems  to  be  so  fixed  to  that  part  of  the 
building,  that  it  will  be  extremely  difficult  to  divert 
it  to  mine  ;  so  that  I  am  resolved  to  stand  boldly  to 
the  complexion  of  my  own  eyebrow,  and  ju-epare 
me  an  immense  black  wig  of  the  same  sort  of  struc- 
ture with  that  of  my  rival.  Now,  though  by  this  I 
shall  not,  perhaps,  lessen  the  number  of  the  admi- 
rers of  his  complexion,  I  shall  have  a  fair  chance  to 
divide  the  passengers  by  the  irresistible  force  of 
mine. 

"I  expect  sudden  despatches  from  you,  with  ad- 
vice of  the  family  you  are  in  now,  how  to  deport 
myself  upon  this  so  delicate  a  conjuncture  ;  with 
some  comfortable  resolutions  in  favour  of  the  hand- 
some black  man  against  the  handsome  fair  one. 
"  I  am,  Sir, 

"  Your  most  humble  servant. 
"Temple,  Paper-buildings." 

"  N.  B.  He  who  writ  this  is  a  black  man,  two 
pair  of  stairs  ;  the  gentleman  of  whom  he  writes  is 
fair,  and  one  pair  of  stairs." 


NO.    485.  SPECTATOR.  9.*) 

"  MR.    SPECTATOR, 

"  I  only  say,  that  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  say 
how  much  I  am 

"  Yours, 

"  EoBiN  Shorter. 

"  P.  S.  I  shall  think  it  is  a  little  hard,  if  you  do 
not  take  as  much  notice  of  this  epistle,  as  you  have 
of  the  ingenious  Mr.  Short's.  I  am  not  afraid  to 
let  the  world  see  which  is  the  deeper  man  of 
the  two." 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

London,  September  15. 
Whereas  a  young  woman  on  horseback,  in  an 
equestrian  habit,  on  the  13th  instant  in  the  even- 
ing, met  the  Spectator  within  a  mile  and  a  half  of 
this  town,  and,  flying  in  the  face  of  justice,  pulled 
off  her  hat,  in  which  there  was  a  feather,  with  the 
mien  and  air  of  a  young  ofHcer,  saying  at  the  same 
time,  'Your  servant,  Mr.  Spec,'  or  words  to  that 
purpose ;  this  is  to  give  notice,  that  if  any  person 
can  discover  the  name,  and  place,  and  abode  of  the 
said  offender,  so  as  she  can  be  brought  to  justice, 
the  informant  shall  have  all  fitting  encouragement. 
T 


96  SPECTATOR.  NO.    4S6 


No.  486.     AVEDNESDAY,  SErXEiMBEK  17,  1712. 


Aitdire  est  ope,rcB  jirctium^procedtre  revte 
Qui  maechis  non  vultis. —  iior.  sat.  i.  2.  37. 


IMITATED. 


All  you  who  tliink  the  city  ne'er  can  thrive 

Till  ev'ry  cuckold-maker's  flead  alive, 

Attend.—  pope. 

"  MR.   SPECTATOR, 

"  There  are  very  many  of  my  acquaintance  fol- 
lowers of  Socrates,  with  more  particular  regard  to 
that  part  of  his  philosophy  which  we  among  our- 
selves call  his  domestics ;  under  which  denomina- 
tion, or  title,  we  include  all  the  conjugal  joys  and 
sufferings.  We  have  indeed  with  very  great  plea- 
sure ohserved  the  honour  you  do  the  whole  frater- 
nity of  the  hen-pecked,  in  placing  that  illustrious 
man  at  our  head,  and  it  does  in  a  very  great  measure 
baffle  the  raillery  of  pert  rogues,  who  iiavc  no  ad- 
vantage above  us,  but  in  that  they  are  single.  But, 
when  you  look  about  into  the  crowd  of  mankind,  you 
will  find  the  fair  sex  reigns  with  gieater  tyranny 
over  lovers  than  husbands.  You  shall  hardly  meet 
one  in  a  thousand  who  is  wholly  exempt  from  their 
dominion,  and  those  that  are  so  are  capable  of  no 
taste  of  life,  and  breathe  and  walk  about  the  earth 
as  insignificants.  But  I  am  going  to  desire  your 
further  favour  in  behalf  of  our  harmless  brother- 
hood, and  hope  you  will  show  in  a  true  light  the 
unmarried  hen-pecked,  as  well  as   you   have  done 


NO.   486  SPECTATOR.  97 

justice  to  US,  who  submit  to  the  conduct  of  our  wives. 
I  am  very  particularly  acquainted  with  one  who  is 
under  entire  submission  to  a  kind  girl,  as  he  calls 
her ;  and  though  he  knows  I  have  been  witness  both 
to  the  ill  usage  he  has  received  from  her,  and  his 
inability  to  resist  her  tyranny,  he  still  pretends  to 
make  a  jest  of  me  for  a  little  more  than  ordinary 
obsequiousness  to  my  spouse.  No  longer  than 
Tuesday  last  he  took  me  with  him  to  visit  his 
mistress  ;  and  he  having,  it  seems,  been  a  little  in 
disgrace  before,  thought  by  bringing  me  with  him 
she  would  constrain  herself,  and  insensibly  fall  into 
general  discourse  with  him ;  and  so  he  might  break 
the  ice,  and  save  himself  all  the  ordinary  compunc- 
tions and  mortifications  she  used  to  make  him  suffer 
before  she  would  be  reconciled,  after  any  act  of  re- 
bellion on  his  part.  When  we  came  into  the  room, 
we  were  received  with  the  utmost  coldness ;  and 
when  he  presented  me  as  Mr.  Such-a-one,  his  very 
good  friend,  she  just  had  patience  to  suffer  my  sa- 
lutation ;  but  when  he  himself,  with  a  very  gay  air, 
ofiered  to  follow  me,  she  gave  him  a  thundering  box 
on  the  ear,  called  him  pitiful  poor-spirited  wretch — ■ 
'how  durst  he  see  her  face?'  His  wig  and  hat  fell 
on  difierent  parts  of  the  floor.  She  seized  the  wig 
too  soon  for  him  to  recover  it,  and,  kicking  it  down 
stairs,  threw  herself  into  an  opposite  room,  pulling 
the  door  after  her  with  a  force,  that  you  would  have 
thought  the  hinges  would  have  given  way.  We 
went  down,  you  must  think,  with  no  very  good 
countenances ;  and,  as  we  sneaked  off  and  were 
driving  home  together,  he  confessed  to  me,  that  her 
anger  was  thus  highly  raised,  because  he  did  not 
think  fit  to  fight  a  gentleman  who  had  said  she  was 
what  she  was :  '  but,'  says  he,  '  a  kind  letter  or  two, 
or  fifty  pieces,  will  put  her  in  humour  again.'  I 
VOL.    XI.  7 


98  SPKCTATOU.  NO.   486. 

asked  him  why  he  did  not  part  witli  her :  he  an- 
swered, he  loved  her  with  all  the  tenderness  ima- 
ginable, and  she  had  too  many  charms  to  be  aban- 
doned for  a  little  quickness  of  spirit.  Tiujs  does 
this  illegitimate  hen-pecked  overlook  the  hussy's 
having  no  regard  to  his  very  life  and  fame,  in  put- 
ting him  upon  an  infamous  dispute  about  her  repu- 
tation :  yet  has  he  the  confidence  to  laugh  at  me, 
because  I  obey  my  poor  dear  in  keeping  out  of 
harm's  way,  and  not  staying  too  late  from  my  own 
family,  to  pass  through  the  hazards  of  a  town  full 
of  ranters  and  debauchees.  You  that  are  a  philo- 
sopher, should  urge  in  our  behalf,  that,  when  we 
bear  with  a  froward  woman,  our  patience  is  pre- 
served, in  consideration  that  a  breach  with  her  might 
be  a  dishonour  to  children  who  are  descended  from 
us,  and  whose  concern  makes  us  tolerate  a  thousand 
frailties,  for  fear  they  should  redound  dishonour 
upon  the  innocent.  This  and  the  like  circum- 
stances, which  carry  with  them  the  most  valuable 
regards  of  human  life,  may  be  mentioned  for  our 
long  sutlV'ring  ;  but  in  the  case  of  gallants,  they  swal- 
low ill  usage  from  one  to  whom  they  have  no  obli- 
gation, but  from  a  base  passion,  which  it  is  mean 
to  indulge,  and  which  it  would  be  glorious  to  over- 
come. 

"These  sort  of  fellows  are  very  numerous,  and 
some  have  been  conspicuously  such,  without  shame  ; 
nay,  they  have  carried  on  the  jest  in  the  very  ar- 
ticle of  death,  and,  to  the  diminution  of  the  wealth 
and  happiness  of  their  families,  in  bar  of  those  ho- 
noural)ly  near  to  them,  have  left  immense  wealth  to 
their  ])aramours.  What  is  this  but  being  a  cully  in 
the  grave !  Sure  this  is  being  hen-pecked  with  a 
vengeance  I  But,  without  dwelling  upon  these  less 
frequent  instances  of  eminent  cullyism,  what  is  there 


NO.    486.  SPECTATOR.  99 

SO  common  as  to  hear  a  fellow  curse  his  fate  that  he 
cannot  get  rid  of  a  passion  to  a  jilt,  and  quote  a  half 
line  out  of  a  miscellany  poem  to  prove  his  weakness 
is  natural  ?  If  they  will  go  on  thus,  I  have  nothing 
to  say  to  it ;  but  then  let  them  not  pretend  to  be 
free  all  this  while,  and  laugh  at  us  poor  married 
patients. 

"  I  have  known  one  wench  in  this  town  carry  a 
haughty  dominion  over  her  lovers  so  well,  that  she 
has  at  the  same  time  been  kept  by  a  sea-captain  in 
the  Straits,  a  merchant  in  the  city,  a  country  gentle- 
man in  Hampshire,  and  had  all  her  correspondences 
managed  by  one  Avhom  she  kept  for  her  own  uses. 
This  happy  man,  as  the  phrase  is,  used  to  write 
very  punctually,  every  post,  letters  for  the  mistress 
to  ti-anscribe.  He  would  sit  in  his  nisht-srown  and 
slippers,  and  be  as  grave  giving  an  account,  only 
changing  names,  that  there  was  nothing  in  those 
idle  reports  they  have  heard  of  such  a  scoundrel  as 
one  of  the  other  lovers  was  ;  and  how  could  he 
think  she  could  condescend  so  low,  after  such  a  tine 
gentleman  as  each  of  them  ?  For  the  same  epistle 
said  the  same  thing  to,  and  of,  every  one  of  them. 
And  so  Mr.  Secretary  and  his  Lady  went  to  bed 
with  great  order. 

"  To  be  short,  Mr.  Spectator,  we  husbands  shall 
never  make  the  tigure  we  ought  in  the  imaginations 
of  young  men  growing  up  in  the  world,  except  you 
can  bring  it  about  that  a  man  of  the  town  shall  be 
as  infamous  a  character  as  a  woman  of  the  town. 
But,  of  all  that  I  have  met  with  in  my  time,  com- 
mend me  to  Betty  Duall :  she  is  the  wife  of  a  sailor, 
and  the  kept  mistress  of  a  man  of  quality  ;  she  dwells 
with  the  latter  during  the  seafaring  of  the  former. 
The  husband  asks  no  questions,  sees  his  apartments 
furnished  with  riches  not  his,  when  he  comes  into 


100  SPKCTATOR.  NO.   487. 

port,  and  the  lover  i»  us  joyful  as  a  iiiuii  arrived,  at 
his  haven,  when  the  other  puts  to  sea.  Betty  is  the 
most  eminently  victorious  of  any  of  her  sex,  and 
ought  to  stand  recorded  the  only  woman  of  the  age 
in  which  she  lives,  who  has  possessed  at  the  same 
time,  two  abused,  and  two  contented .' 

T 


No.  487.     THURSDAY,  SEPTEMBER  18,  1712. 


—  Cum  prostrala  sopore 
Urget  membra  quies,  et  mens  sinepondere  ludit.        fete. 

While  sleep  oppresses  the  tired  limbs,  the  mind 
Plays  without  weight,  aud  wantons  uiicoutiiied. 

Though  there  are  many  authors  who  have  writ- 
ten on  dreams,  they  have  generally  considered  them 
only  as  revelations  of  what  has  already  happened  in 
distant  parts  of  the  world,  or  as  presages  of  what  is 
to  hai)pen  in  future  periods  of  time. 

I  shall  consider  this  subject  in  another  light,  as 
dreams  may  give  us  some  idea  of  the  great  excel- 
lence of  a  Imman  soul,  and  some  intimations  of  its 
independency  on  matter. 

In  the  first  place,  our  dreams  are  great  instances 
of  that  activity  which  is  natural  to  tlie  human  soul, 
and  which  is  not  in  the  power  of  sleep  to  deaden  or 
abate.  When  the  man  appears  tired  and  worn  out 
with  the  labours  of  the  day,  this  active  part  in  his 
composition  is  still  busied  and  unwearied.  When 
the  organs  of  sense  want  their  due  repose  and  ne- 


NO.   487.  SPECTATOR.  101 

cessary  reparations,  and  the  body  is  no  longer  able 
to  keep  pace  with  that  spiritual  substance  to  which 
it  is  united^  the  soul  exerts  herself  in  her  several 
faculties,  and  continues  in  action  till  her  partner  is 
again  qualified  to  bear  her  company.  In  this  case 
dreams  look  like  the  relaxations  and  amusements 
of  the  soul,  when  she  is  disencumbered  of  her  ma- 
chine, her  sports,  and  recreations,  when  she  has  laid 
her  charge  asleep. 

In  the  second  place,  dreams  are  an  instance  of 
that  agility  and  p.ei"fection  which  is  natural  to  the 
faculties  of  the  mind,  when  they  are  disengaged 
from  the  body.  The  soul  is  clogged  and  retarded 
in  her  operations,  when  she  acts  in  conjunction  with 
a  companion  that  is  so  heavy  and  unwieldy  in  its 
motions.  But  in  dreams  it  is  wonderful  to  observe 
with  what  a  sprightliness  and  alacrity  she  exerts 
herself.  The  slow  of  speech  make  unpremeditated 
harangues,  or  converse  readily  in  languages  that 
they  are  but  little  acquainted  with.  The  grave 
abound  in  pleasantries,  the  dull  in  repartees  and 
points  of  wit.  There  is  not  a  more  painful  action 
of  the  mind  than  invention  ;  yet  in  dreams  it  works 
with  that  ease  and  activity  that  we  are  not  sensible 
when  the  faculty  is  employed.  For  instance,  I  be- 
lieve every  one,  some  time  or  other,  dreams  that  he 
is  reading  papers,  books,  or  letters  ;  in  which  case 
the  invention  prompts  so  readily,  that  the  mind  is 
imposed  upon,  and  mistakes  its  own  suggestions  for 
the  compositions  of  another. 

I  shall  under  this  head,  quote  a  passage  out  of 
the  Religio  Medici,*  in  which  the  ingenious  author 
gives  an  account  of  himself  in  his  dreaming  and  his 
waking  thoughts.     '  We  are  somewhat  more  than 

*  By  Sir  T.  Brown,  M.  D. 


102  SPECTATOK.  NO.    487. 

ourselves  in  our  sleeps,  ami  tlie  slumber  of  the  body 
seems  to  be  but  the  waking  of  the  soul.  It  is  the 
ligation  of  sense,  but  the  liberty  of  reason  ;  and  our 
waking  coneeiJtions  do  not  mateii  tlie  faneies  of  our 
sleeps.  At  my  nativity,  my  ascendant  was  the 
watery  sign  of  Scorpius :  I  wa*  born  in  the  planet- 
ary hour  of  Saturn,  and  I  think  I  have  a  |)iece  of 
that  lead<ui  planet  in  me.  I  am  no  way  facetious, 
nor  disposed  for  the  mirth  and  galliardize  of  com- 
pany;  yet  in  one  dream  1  can  compose  a  whole 
comedy,  behold  the  action,  apprehend  the  jests,  and 
laugh  myself  awake  at  the  conceits  thereof.  Were 
my  memory  as  faithful  as  my  reason  is  then  fruit- 
ful, I  would  never  study  but  in  my  dreams ;  and 
this  time  also  would  I  choose  for  my  devotions ;  but 
our  grosser  memories  have  then  so  little  hold  of  our 
abstracted  understandings,  that  they  forget  tlie  story, 
and  can  only  I'elate  to  our  awaked  souls  a  confused 
and  broken  tale  of  that  that  has  passed.  Thus  it 
is  observed  that  men  sometimes,  upon  the  hour  of 
their  departure,  do  speak  and  reason  above  them- 
selves ;  for  then  the  soul,  beginning  to  be  freed 
from  the  ligaments  of  the  body,  begins  to  reason 
like  herself,  and  to  discourse  in  a  strain  above  mor- 
tality.' 

We  may  likewise  observe,  in  the  third  place,  that 
the  passions  affect  the  mind  with  greater  strength 
when  we  are  asleep  than  when  we  are  awake.  Joy 
and  sorrow  give  us  more  vigorous  sensations  of  pain 
or  pleasure  at  this  time  than  any  other.  Devotion 
likewise,  as  the  excellent  author  above  mentioned 
has  hinted,  is  in  a  very  particular  manner  heightened 
and  inflamed,  when  it  rises  in  the  soul  at  a  time 
that  the  body  is  thus  laid  at  rest.  Every  man's  ex- 
perience will  inform  him  in  this  matter,  though  it 
is  very  probable  that  this  may  happen  differently 


NO.    487.  SPECTATOR.  103 

in  different  constitutions.  I  shall  conclude  this  head 
with  the  two  following  problems,  which  I  shall  leave 
to  the  solution  of  my  reader.  Supposing  a  man 
always  happy  in  his  dreams,  and  miserable  in  his 
waking  thoughts,  and  that  his  life  was  equally  divid- 
ed between  them  ;  whether  would  he  be  more  happy 
or  miserable  ?  Were  a  man  a  king  in  his  dreams, 
and  a  beggar  awake,  and  dreamt  as  consequentially, 
and  in  as  continued  unbroken  schemes,  as  he  thinks 
when  awake ;  whether  he  would  be  in  reality  a 
king  or  beggar  ;  or,  rather,  whether  he  would  not 
be  both? 

There  is  another  circumstance,  which  methinks 
gives  us  a  very  high  idea  of  the  nature  of  the  soul, 
in  regard  to  what  passes  in  dreams ;  I  mean  that 
innumerable  multitude  and  variety  of  ideas  which 
then  arise  in  her.  Were  that  active  and  watchful 
being  only  conscious  of  her  own  existence  at  such 
a  time,  what  a  painful  solitude  would  our  hours  of 
sleep  be  !  Were  the  soul  sensible  of  her  being  alone 
in  her  sleeping  moments,  after  the  same  manner 
that  she  is  sensible  of  it  while  awake,  the  time  would 
hang  very  heavy  on  her,  as  it  often  actually  does 
when  she  dreams  that  she  is  in  such  a  solitude. 

— Semperque  relinqui 
Sola  sibi,  semper  longam  incomitata  videtur 
Ire  mam. —  vikg.  jes.  iv.  466. 

— She  seems  alone 
To  wander  in  her  sleep  through  ways  unknown, 
Guideless  and  dark.  "  dkyden. 

But  this  observation  I  only  make  by  the  way. 
What  I  would  here  remark,  is  that  wonderful  power 
in  the  soul,  of  producing  her  own  company  upon 
these  occasions.  She  converses  with  numberless 
beings  of  her  own  creation,  and  is  transported  into 


104  SPECTATOR.  NO.    487. 

ten  thousand  scenes  of  her  own  raising.  She  is 
herself  the  theatre,  the  actors,  and  the  beholder. 
This  puts  nie  in  mind  of  a  saying  which  I  am  in- 
finitely pleased  with,  and  which  Plutarch  ascribes 
to  Heraclitus,  that  all  men  wldl>t  they  are  awake  are 
in  one  common  world  ;  but  that  each  of  them,  when 
he  is  asleep,  is  in  a  world  of  his  own.  The  waking 
man  is  conversant  in  the  woi-ld  of  nature  ;  when  he 
sleeps  he  retires  to  a  private  world  that  is  parti- 
cular to  himself.  There  seems  something  in  this 
consideration  that  intimates  to  us  a  natural  grand- 
eur and  perfection  in  the  soul,  which  is  I'ather  to 
be  admired  than  explained. 

I  must  not  omit  that  argument  for  the  excellency 
of  the  soul  which  I  have  seen  quoted  out  of  Ter- 
tullian,  namely,  its  power  of  divining  in  dreams. 
That  several  such  divinations  have  been  made,  none 
can  question,  who  believes  the  holy  writings,  or 
who  has  but  the  least  degree  of  a  common  historical 
faith  ;  there  being  innumerable  instances  of  this  na- 
ture in  several  authors,  both  ancient  and  modern, 
sacred  and  profane.  Whether  such  dark  presages, 
such  visions  of  tiic  night,  proceed  from  any  latent 
power  in  the  soul,  during  this  her  state  of  abstrac- 
tion, or  from  any  communication  with  the  Supreme 
Being,  or  from  any  operation  of  subordinate  spirits, 
has  been  a  great  dispute  among  the  learned  ;  the 
matter  of  fact  is,  I  think,  incontestable,  and  has 
been  looked  ujjon  as  such  by  the  greatest  writers, 
who  have  been  never  suspected  either  of  supersti- 
tion or  enthusiasm. 

I  do  not  suppose  that  the  soul  in  these  instances 
is  entirely  loose  and  unfettered  from  the  body  ;  it 
is  sullicient  if  she  is  not  so  far  sunk  and  innnersed 
in  matter,  nor  entangled  and  |ierplexed  in  her  opera- 
tions  with   such    motions  of   blood  and  spirits,  as 


NO.   488.  SPECTATOR.  105 

when  she  actuates  the  machine  in  its  waking  liours. 
The  corporeal  union  is  slackened  enough  to  give  the 
mind  more  play.  The  soul  seems  gathered  within 
herself,  and  recovers  that  spring  which  is  broke  and 
weakened,  when  she  operates  more  in  concert  with 
the  body. 

The  speculations  I  have  here  made,  if  they  are 
not  arguments,  they  are  at  least  strong  intimations, 
not  only  of  the  excellence  of  a  human  soul,  but  of 
its  independence  on  the  body ;  and,  if  they  do  not 
prove,  do  at  least  confirm  these  two  great  points, 
which  are  established  by  many  other  reasons  that 
are  altogether  unanswerable. 

O 


No.  488.     FRIDAY,  SEPTEMBER  19,  1712. 


Quanii  empUs  f  parvo.     Quanti  ergo^  octo  assibus.    Eheu! 

HOR.  SAT.  ii.  3.  156. 

What  doth  it  cost  ?    Not  much  upon  my  word. 

How  much  pray  V    Why,  Two-pence.     Two-pence!    0  Lord! 

CKEECH. 

I  FIND  by  several  letters  which  I  receive  daily, 
that  many  of  my  readers  would  be  better  pleased 
to  pay  three  half-pence  for  my  paper  than  two- 
pence.    The  ingenious  T.  W.*  tells  me  that  I  have 

*  Dr.  Thomas  Walker,  head  master  of  the  Charter-house 
school,  whose  scholars  Addison  and  Steele  had  been.  The 
doctor  was  head  master  forty-nine  years,  and  died  June  12, 
1728,  in  the  81st  year  of  his  age. 


lOG  Sl'ECTATOK.  NO.   488. 

deprived  liim  of  the  best  j)urt  of  his  breakfast ;  for 
that  since  thorise  of  my  paper,  lie  is  forced  every 
morning  to  drink,  liis  disli  of  cotFee  by  itself,  without 
the  addition  of  the  Spectator,  that  used  to  be  better 
than  lace*  to  it.  Eugenius  informs  me,  very  oblig- 
ingly, that  he  never  thought  he  should  have  dis- 
liked any  passage  in  my  paper,  but  that  of  late 
there  have  been  two  words  in  every  one  of  them 
which  he  could  heartily  wish  left  out,  viz.  '  Price 
Two-pence.'  I  have  a  letter  from  a  soap-boiler, 
who  condoles  with  me  very  affectionately  upon  the 
necessity  we  both  lie  under  of  setting  a  higher  price 
on  our  commodities  since  the  late  tax  has  been  laid 
upon  them,  and  desiring  me,  when  I  write  next  on 
that  subject,  to  speak  a  word  or  two  upon  the  pr<i- 
seut  duties  on  Castile  soap.  But  there  is  none  of 
these  my  correspondents,  who  writes  with  a  greater 
turn  of  good  sense,  and  elegance  of  expression,  than 
the  generous  Philomedes,  who  advises  me  to  value 
every  Spectator  at  sixpence,  and  promises  that  he 
himself  will  engage  for  above  a  hundred  of  his  ac- 
quaintance, who  shall  take  it  in  at  that  price. 

Letters  from  the  female  world  are  likewise  come 
to  me,  in  great  quantities,  upon  the  same  occasion  ; 
and,  as  I  naturally  bear  a  great  deference  to  this 
part  of  our  species,  I  am  very  glad  to  find  that 
those  who  approve  my  conduct  in  this  particular  are 
much  more  numerous  than  those  who  condemn  it. 
A  large  family  of  daughters  have  drawn  me  up  a 
very  handsome  remonstrance,  in  which  they  set 
forth  that  their  father  having  refused  to  take  in  the 
Spectator,  since  the  additional  price  was  set  upon 
it,  they  offered  him  unanimously  to  bate  him  the 
article  of  bread  and  butter  in  the  tea-table  account, 

*  A  little  brandy  or  rum. 


NO.   488.  SPECTATOR.  107 

provided  the  Spectator  might  be  served  up  to  them 
every  morning  as  usual.  Upon  this  the  old  gentle- 
man, being  pleased,  it  seems,  with  their  desire  of 
improving  themselves,  has  granted  them  the  con- 
tinuance both  of  the  Spectator  and  their  bread  and 
butter,  having  given  particular  orders  that  the  tea- 
table  shall  be  set  forth  every  morning  with  its  cus- 
tomary bill  of  fare,  and  without  any  manner  of  de- 
falcation. I  thought  myself  obliged  to  mention  this 
particular,  as  it  does  honour  to  this  worthy  gentle- 
man ;  and  if  the  young  lady  Lietitia,  who  sent  me 
this  account,  will  acquaint  me  with  his  name,  I  will 
insert  it  at  length  in  one  of  my  papers,  if  he  de- 
sires it. 

I  should  be  very  glad  to  find  out  any  expedient 
that  might  alleviate  the  expense  which  this  my  paper 
brings  to  any  of  my  readers ;  and,  in  order  to  it, 
must  propose  two  points  to  their  consideration. 
First,  that  if  they  retrench  any  the  smallest  parti- 
cular in  their  ordinary  expense,  it  will  easily  make 
up  the  half-penny  a  day  which  we  have  now  under 
consideration.  Let  a  lady  sacrifice  but  a  single  ri- 
band to  her  morning  studies,  and  it  will  be  sufficient ; 
let  a  family  burn  but  a  candle  a  night  less  than  their 
usual  number,  and  they  may  take  in  the  Spectator 
without  detriment  to  their  private  affairs. 

In  the  next  place,  if  my  readers  will  not  go  to 
the  price  of  buying  my  papers  by  retail,  let  them 
have  patience,  and  they  may  buy  them  in  the  lump, 
without  the  burden  of  a  tax  upon  them.  My  specula- 
tions when  they  are  sold  single,  like  cherries  upon  the 
stick,  are  delights  for  the  rich  and  wealthy :  after  some 
time  they  come  to  market  in  greater  quantities,  and 
are  every  ordinary  man's  money.  The  truth  of  it 
is,  they  have  a  certain  flavour  at  their  first  appear- 
ance, from  several  accidental  circumstances  of  time, 


108  SPECTATOR.  NO.    488. 

place,  antl  person,  which  they  may  lose  if  they  are 
not  taken  early  ;  but,  in  this  case,  every  reader  is 
to  consider  whether  it  is  not  better  for  him  to  be  half 
a  year  beliindhand  witli  the  fasliionable  and  polite 
part  of  the  world,  than  to  strain  himself  beyond  his 
circumstances.  My  bookseller  has  now  about  ten 
thousand  of  the  third  and  fourth  volumes,  which 
be  is  ready  to  publish,  having  already  disposed  of 
as  large  an  edition  both  of  the  first  and  second  vo- 
lume. As  he  is  a  person  whose  head  is  very  well 
turned  to  his  business,  he  thinks  they  would  be  a 
very  {)roi)er  present  to  be  made  to  persons  at  chris- 
tenings, marriages,  visiting  days,  and  tlie  like  joyful 
solemnities,  as  several  other  books  are  frequently 
given  at  funerals.  He  has  printed  them  in  such  a 
little  portable  volume,  tliat  many  of  them  may  be 
ranged  together  upon  a  single  plate  ;  and  is  of 
opinion,  that  a  salver  of  Spectators  would  be  as  ac- 
ceptable an  entertainment  to  tlie  ladies  as  a  salver 
of  sweetmeats. 

I  shall  conclude  this  paper  with  an  epigram  late- 
ly sent  to  the  writer  of  the  Spectator,  after  having 
returned  my  thanks  to  the  ingenious  author  of  it. 


"  SIR, 

"  Having  heard  the  following  epigram  very  much 
commended,  I  wonder  that  it  has  not  yet  had  a 
place  in  any  of  your  papers  ;  I  think  the  suffrage 
of  our  poet-laureat  should  not  be  overlooked,  which 
shows  the  opinion  he  entertains  of  your  paper, 
whether  the  notion  he  proceeds  upon  be  true  or 
false.  I  make  bold  to  convey  it  to  you,  not  know- 
ing if  it  has  yet  come  to  your  hands." 


NO.  489.  SPECTATOR.  109 

ON  THE  SPECTATOR. 

BY   MK     TATE. 

— AKusque  et  idem 
Nasceris. —  hor.  caem.  SiEC.  10. 

You  rise  another  aud  the  same. 

When  first  the  Tatlerto  a  mute  was  tum'd, 
Great  Britain  for  her  censor's  silence  mourn'd; 
Robb'd  of  his  sprightly  beams,  she  wept  the  night, 
Till  the  Spectator  rose  and  blazed  as  bright. 
So  the  first  man  the  sun's  first  setting  view'd, 
And  sigh'd  till  circling  day  his  joys  renew'd. 
Yet  doubtful  how  that  second  sun  to  name, 
Whether  a  bright  successor,  or  the  same, 
So  we:  but  now  from  this  suspense  are  freed. 
Since  all  agree,  who  both  with  judgment  read, 
'Tis  the  same  sun,  and  does  himself  succeed. 

o 


No.  489.     SATURDAY,  SEPTEMBER  20,  1712. 


— Ba&vib^Eirao  fieya  g^svoq  '^keovoio.  hom. 

The  mighty  force  of  ocean's  troubled  flood. 


"  Upon  reading  your  essay  concerning  the  plea- 
sures of  the  imagination,  I  find  among  the  thi-ee 
sources  of  those  pleasures  which  you  have  discover- 
ed, that  greatness  is  one.  This  has  suggested  to  me 
the  reason  why,  of  all  objects  that  I  have  ever  seen,' 
there  is  none  which  affects  my  imagination  so  much 
as  the  sea,  or  ocean.     I  cannot  see  the  heavings  of 


110  SriiCTATOU.  NO.   469. 

this  prodigious  bulk  of  waters,  even  in  a  calm,  with- 
out a  very  pleasing  asfonisliment ;  but  when  it  is 
worked  uj)  in  a  tempest,  so  that  the  horizon  on  every 
side  is  nothing  but  foaming  billows  and  Moating 
mountains,  it  is  iin|)ossible  to  describe  the  agreeable 
horror  that  rises  from  such  a  prospect.  A  troubled 
ocean,  to  a  man  who  sails  upon  it,  is,  I  think,  the 
biggest  object  that  he  can  see  in  motion,  and  conse- 
quently gives  his  imagination  one  of  the  highest 
kinds  of  pleasure  that  can  arise  from  greatness.  I 
must  confess  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  survey  this 
world  of  fluid  matter  witliout  thinking  on  the  hand 
that  first  poured  it  out,  and  made  a  proper  channel 
for  its  reception.  Such  an  object  naturally  raises  in 
my  thoughts  the  idea  of  an  Almighty  Being,  and 
convinces  me  of  His  existence  as  much  as  a  meta- 
physical demonstration.  The  imagination  prompts 
the  understanding,  and,  by  the  greatness  of  the 
sensible  object,  produces  in  it  the  idea  of  a  Being 
who  is  neither  circumscribed  by  time  nor  space. 

"  As  I  have  made  several  voyages  upon  the  sea, 
I  have  often  been  tossed  in  storms,  and  on  that  oc- 
casion have  frequently  reflected  on  the  descriptions 
of  them  in  ancient  poets.  I  remember  Longinus 
higldy  recommends  one  in  Homer,  because  the  poet 
has  not  amused  himself  witli  little  fancies  u|)on  the 
occasion,  as  authors  of  an  inferior  genius,  whom  he 
mentions,  had  done,  but  because  he  has  giithered 
together  those  circumstances  which  are  tlie  most 
apt  to  terrify  the  imagination,  and  which  really 
happen  in  the  raging  of  a  tempest.  It  is  for  the 
same  reason  that  I  prefer  the  following  description 
of  a  ship  in  a  storm,  which  the  psalmist  has  made, 
.before  any  other  I  have  ever  met  with.  '  They 
that  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships,  that  do  business 
in  great  waters ;  these  see  the  works  of  the  Lord, 


>;0.    489.  SPECTATOR.  Ill 

and  his  wonders  in  the  deep.  For  he  commandeth, 
and  raiseth  the  stormy  wind,  which  Hfteth  up  the 
waves  thereof.  They  mount  up  to  the  heaven,  they 
go  down  again  to  the  depths :  their  soul  is  mehed  be- 
cause of  trouble.  They  reel  to  and  fro,  and  stagger 
like  a  drunken  man,  and  are  at  their  wit's  end.  Then 
they  cry  unto  the  Loi'd  in  their  trouble,  and  he 
bringeth  them  out  of  their  distresses.  He  maketh 
the  storm  a  calm,  so  that  the  waves  thereof  are  still. 
Then  are  they  glad  because  they  be  quiet;  so  he 
bringeth  them  unto  their  desired  haven.'  * 

"  By  the  way ;  how  much  more  comfortable,  as 
well  as  rational,  is  this  system  of  the  psalmist,  than 
the  pagan  scheme  in  Virgil  and  other  poets,  where 
one  deity  is  represented  as  raising  a  storm,  and 
another  as  laying  it !  Were  we  only  to  consider 
the  sublime  in  this  piece  of  poetry,  what  can  be 
nobler  than  the  idea  it  gives  us  of  the  Supreme 
Being  thus  raising  a  tumult  among  the  elements, 
and  recovering  them  out  of  their  confusion ;  thus 
troubling  and  becalming  nature? 

"  Great  painters  do  not  only  give  us  landscapes 
of  gardens,  gi-oves,  and  meadows,  but  very  often 
employ  their  pencils  ujjon  sea-pieces.  I  could  wish 
you  would  follow  their  example.  If  this  small  sketch 
may  deserve  a  place  among  your  works,  I  shall 
accompany  it  with  a  divine  ode  made  by  a  gentle- 
man upon  the  conclusion  of  his  travels. 


How  are  thy  servants  blest,  0  Lord! 

How  sure  is  their  defence ! 
Eternal  wisdom  is  their  guide, 

Their  help  Omnipotence. 


*  Ps.  cvii.  23,  et  seq. 


112  SrECTATOR.  NO.   489. 


In  foreign  realms  and  lands  remote, 

Supported  by  thy  care, 
Througli  burning  climes  I  ])assed  unhurt, 

And  breathed  in  tainted  air. 


Thy  mercy  sweeteii'd  every  soil. 
Made  ev'ry  region  please: 

The  lioary  Alpine  hills  it  warm'd, 
And  smooth'd  the  Tyrrhene  seas. 


Think,  0  my  soul,  devoutly  think, 
How,  with  affrighted  eyes, 

Thou  saw'st  the  wide  extended  deep 
In  all  its  horrors  rise ! 


Confusion  dwelt  in  every  face, 

And  fear  in  ev'ry  iieart; 
When  waves  on  waves,  and  gulfs  in  gulfs, 

O'ercaine  the  pilot's  art. 


Yet  then  from  all  my  griefs,  0  Lord, 

Thy  mercy  set  me  free, 
Whilst,  in  the  confidence  of  prayer. 

My  soul  took  hold  on  thee. 


For  though  in  dreadful  whirls  we  hung 

High  on  the  broken  wave, 
I  knew  thou  wert  not  slow  to  hear. 

Nor  impotent  to  save. 


The  storm  was  laid,  the  winds  retired. 

Obedient  to  thy  will; 
The  sea  that  roar'd  at  thy  command, 

At  thy  command  was  still. 


In  midst  of  dangers,  fears,  and  death. 

Thy  goodness  1  '11  adore. 
AjkI  praise  thee  for  thy  mercies  past, 

And  humbly  hope  for  more. 


NO.   490.  SPECTATOR.  113 


My  life,  if  thou  preserv'st  my  life, 

Thy  sacrifice  shall  be ; 
And  death,  if  death  must  be  my  doom, 

Shall  join  my  soul  to  thee. 

0 


No.  490.    MONDAY,  SEPTEMBER  22,  1712. 


Domus,  etplacens  uxor.  hor.  od.  ii.  14.  21. 

Thy  house  and  pleasing  wife.  creech. 

I  HAVE  very  long  entertained  an  ambition  to  make 
the  word  wife  the  most  agreeable  and  delightful 
name  in  nature.  If  it  be  not  so  in  itself,  all  the 
wiser  part  of  mankind,  from  the  beginning  of  the 
world  to  this  day,  has  consented  in  an  error.  But 
our  imhappiness  in  England  has  been,  that  a  few 
loose  men,  of  genius  for  pleasure,  have  turned  it  all 
to  the  gratification  of  ungoverned  desires,  in  despite 
of  good  sense,  form,  and  order ;  when,  in  truth,  any 
satisfaction  beyond  the  boundaries  of  reason  is  but 
a  step  towards  madness  and  folly.  But  is  the  sense 
of  joy  and  accomplishment  of  desire  no  way  to  be 
indulged  or  attained  ?  And  have  we  appetites  given 
us  to  be  at  all  gratified  ?  Yes,  certainly.  Marriage 
is  an  institution  calculated  for  a  constant  scene  of 
as  much  delight  as  our  being  is  capable  of.  Two 
persons,  who  have  chosen  each  other  out  of  all  the 
species,  with  design  to  be  each  other's  mutual  com- 
fort and  entertainment,  have  in   that  action  bound 

VOL.   XI.  8 


114  SPECTATOR.  NO.   490. 

themselves  to  be  good-luiinoureil,  aflfjxble,  discreet, 
forgiving,  patient,  and  joyful,  with  respect  to  each 
other's  frailties  and  perfections,  to  the  end  of  their 
lives.  The  wiser  of  tlie  two,  and  it  always  happens 
one  of  theni  is  such,  will,  for  her  or  his  own  sake, 
keep  things  from  outrage  with  the  utmost  sanctity. 
When  this  union  is  thus  preserved,  as  I  have  often 
said,  the  most  indifferent  circumstance  administers 
deliglit.  Their  condition  is  an  endless  source  of 
new  gratifications.  The  married  man  can  say,  'If 
I  am  unacceptable  to  all  the  world  beside,  there  is 
one  whom  I  entirely  love,  that  will  receive  me  with 
joy  and  transport,  and  think  herself  obliged  to  double 
her  kindness  and  caresses  of  me  from  tlie  gloom  with 
which  she  sees  me  overcast.  I  need  not  dissemble 
the  sorrow  of  my  heart  to  be  agreeable  there  ;  that 
very  sorrow  quickens  her  affection.' 

This  passion  towards  each  other,  when  once  well 
fixed,  enters  into  the  very  constitution,  and  the 
kindness  flows  as  easily  and  silently  as  the  blood  in 
the  veins.  When  this  affection  is  enjoyed  in  the 
most  sublime  degree,  unskilful  eyes  see  nothing  of 
it ;  but  when  it  is  subject  to  be  changed,  and  has  an 
allay  in  it  that  may  make  it  end  in  distaste,  it  is  apt 
to  break  into  rage,  or  overflow  into  fondness,  before 
the  rest  of  the  world. 

Uxander  and  Viramira  are  amorous  and  young, 
and  have  been  married  these  two  years  ;  yet  do  they 
so  much  distinguish  each  other  in  company,  that  in 
your  conversation  with  the  dear  things  you  are  still 
put  to  a  sort  of  cross-purposes.  Whenever  you  ad- 
dress yourself  in  ordinary  discourse  to  Viramira,  she 
turns  her  head  another  way,  and  the  answer  is  made 
to  the  dear  Uxander.  If  you  tell  a  merry  tale,  the 
application  is  still  directed  to  her  dear;  and  when 
she  should  commend  }o,:,  she  says  to  him,  as  if  he 


NO.    490.  SPECTATOR.  115 

had  spoke  it,  'That  is,  my  clear,  so  pretty.' — This 
puts  me  in  mind  of  what  I  have  somewhere  read  in 
the  admired  memoirs  of  the  famous  Cervantes ; 
where,  while  honest  Sancho  Panca  is  putting  some 
necessary  humble  question  concerning  Rosinante, 
his  supper,  or  his  lodgings,  the  knight  of  the  sor- 
rowful countenance  is  ever  improving  the  harmless 
lowly  hints  of  his  'squire  to  poetical  conceit,  rap- 
ture, and  flight,  in  contemplation  of  the  dear  Dul- 
cinea  of  his  affections. 

On  the  other  side,  Dictamnus  and  Moria  are  ever 
squabbling  ;  and  you  may  observe  them,  all  the  time 
they  are  in  company,  in  a  state  of  impatience.  As 
Uxander  and  Viramira  wish  you  all  gone,  that  they 
may  be  at  freedom  for  dalliance;  Dictamnus  and 
Moria  wait  your  absence,  that  they  may  speak  their 
harsh  interpretations  on  each  other's  words  and  ac- 
tions, during  the  time  you  were  with  them. 

It  is  certain,  that  the  greater  part  of  the  evils 
attending  this  condition  of  life,  arises  from  fashion. 
Prejudice  in  this  case  is  turned  the  wrong  way ; 
and,  instead  of  expecting  more  happiness  than  we 
shall  meet  with  in  it,  we  are  laughed  into  a  prepos- 
session that  we  shall  be  disappointed  if  we  hope  for 
lasting  satisfactions. 

With  all  persons  who  have  made  good  sense  the 
rule  of  action,  marriage  is  described  as  the  state 
capable  of  the  highest  human  felicity.  Tully  has 
epistles  full  of  affectionate  pleasure,  when  he  writes 
to  his  wife,  or  speaks  of  his  children.  But,  above 
all  the  hints  of  this  kind  I  have  met  with  in  writers 
of  ancient  date,  I  am  pleased  with  an  epigi-am  of 
Martial,  in  honour  of  the  beauty  of  his  wife  Cleo- 
patra. Commentators  say  it  was  written  the  day 
after  his  wedding-night.  When  his  spouse  was  re- 
tired to  the  bathing-room  in  the  heat  of  the  day,  he, 


116  SPECTATOR.  NO.   490. 

it  seems,  came  in  upon  her  wlien  she  was  just  going 
into  the  water.  To  her  beauty  and  earriage  on  this 
occasion  we  owe  the  following  e|)igrarn,  which  I 
showed  my  friend  Will  Honeycomb,  in  French,  who 
lias  translated  it  as  follows  without  understanding 
the  original.  I  expect  it  will  please  the  English 
better  than  the  Latin  reader. 

When  my  briglit  consort,  now  nor  wife  nor  maid, 

Aslmmcil  iind  wiinton,  of  embrace  afraid, 

Fled  to  the  streams,  tlie  streams  my  fair  betray'd; 

To  my  fond  eyes  slie  all  transparent  stood; 

She  Ijlnsh'd,  I  smiled  at  the  slight  covering  flood. 

Thus  through  the  glass  the  lovely  lily  glows. 

Thus  through  the  ambient  gem  shines  forth  the  rose. 

I  saw  new  chaiTns,  and  plunged  to  seize  my  store. 

Kisses  I  snatched — the  waves  prevented  more. 

My  friend  would  not  allow  that  this  luscious  ac- 
count could  be  given  of  a  wife,  and  therefore  used 
the  word  consort;  which,  he  learnedly  said,  would 
serve  for  a  mistress  as  well,  and  give  a  more  gentle- 
manly turn  to  the  epigram.  But,  under  favour  of 
him  and  all  other  sucii  tine  gentlemen,  I  cannot  be 
persnaded  but  that  the  passion  a  bridegroom  has  for 
a  virtuous  young  woman,  will,  by  little  and  little, 
grow  into  friendship,  and  then  it  is  ascended  to  a 
higher  pleasure  than  it  was  in  its  first  fervour. 
Without  this  happens,  he  is  a  very  unfortunate  man 
who  has  entered  into  this  state,  and  left  the  habi- 
tudes of  life  he  might  have  enjoyed  with  a  faithful 
friend.  But  when  the  wife  proves  capable  of  filling 
serious  as  well  as  joyous  hours,  she  brings  happi- 
ness unknown  to  friendship  itself.  Spenser  speaks 
of  each  kind  of  love  with  great  justice,  and  attri- 
butes the  highest  i)raise  to  friendship ;  and  indeed 
there  is  no  disputing  that  point,  but  by  making 
that  friendship  take  its  place  between  two  married 
persons. 


NO.   491.  SPECTATOR.  117 

Hard  is  the  doubt,  and  difficult  to  deem, 
When  all  three  kinds  of  love  together  meet, 
And  do  dispart  the  heart  with  power  extreme, 
Whether  shall  weigh  the  balance  down;  to  wit, 
The  dear  affection  unto  kindred  sweet. 
Or  raging  fire  of  love  to  womenkind. 
Or  zeal  of  friends  combined  by  virtues  meet: 
But,  of  them  all,  the  band  of  virtuous  mind, 
Methinks  the  gentle  heart  should  most  assured  bind. 

For  natural  affection  soon  doth  cease, 

And  quenched  is  with  Cupid's  greater  flame; 

But  faithful  friendship  doth  them  both  suppress, 

And  them  with  mastering  discipline  doth  tame. 

Through  thoughts  aspiring  to  eternal  fiime. 

For  as  the  soul  doth  rule  the  earthly  mass. 

And  all  the  service  of  the  body  frame; 

So  love  of  soul  doth  love  of  body  pass. 

No  less  than  perfect  gold  surmoimts  the  meanest  brass. 

T 


No.  491.     TUESDAY,  SEPTEMBER  23,  1712. 


— Digna  satis  fortuna  revisit.  vikg.  ^n.  ill.  318. 

A  just  reverse  of  fortune  on  him  waits. 

It  is  common  with  me  to  run  from  book  to  book 
to  exercise  my  mind  with  many  objects,  and  qualify 
myself  for  my  daily  labours.  After  an  hour  spent 
in  this  loitering  way  of  reading,  something  will  re- 
main to  be  food  to  the  imagination.  The  writings 
that  please  me  most  on  such  occasions  are  stories, 
for  the  truth  of  which  there  is  good  authority.  The 
mind  of  man  is  naturally  a  lover  of  justice ;  and 
when  we  read  a  story  wherein  a  criminal  is  over- 


118  SPECTATOR.  NO.   491. 

taken,  in  whom  there  is  no  quality  which  is  the  ob- 
ject of  pity,  the  soul  enjoys  a  certain  revenge  for 
the  offence  dune  to  its  nature,  in  the  wicked  actions 
committed  in  the  preceding  part  of  the  history. 
This  will  be  better  understood  by  the  reader  from 
the  following  narration  itself,  than  from  any  thing 
which  I  can  say  to  introduce  it. 

When  Cliarles  Duke  of  Burgundy,  surnamed  The 
Bold,  reigned  over  spacious  dominions  now  swal- 
lowed up  by  tlic  power  of  France,  he  heaped  many 
favours  and  honours  upon  Claudius  Rhynsault,  a 
German,  who  had  served  him  in  his  wars  against 
the  insults  of  his  neighbours.  A  great  part  of 
Zealand  was  at  that  time  in  subjection  to  that  duke- 
dom. The  prince  himself  was  a  person  of  singular 
humanity  and  justice.  Rhynsault,  with  no  other 
real  quality  than  courage,  had  dissimulation  enough 
to  pass  upon  his  generous  and  unsuspicious  master 
for  a  person  of  blunt  honesty  and  fidelity,  without 
any  vice  that  could  bias  him  from  the  execution  of 
justice.  His  highness  prepossessed  to  his  advan- 
tage, upon  tiie  decease  of  the  governor  of  his  chief 
town  of  Zealand,  gave  Rhynsault  that  command. 
He  was  not  long  seated  in  that  government,  before 
he  cast  his  eyes  upon  Sapphii-a,  a  woman  of  ex([ui- 
site  beauty,  the  wife  of  Paul  Danvelt,  a  wealthy 
merchant  of  the  city  under  his  protection  and  go- 
verinnent.  Rhynsault  was  a  man  of  a  warm  con- 
stitution, and  violent  inclination  to  women,  and  not 
unskilled  in  the  soft  arts  which  win  their  favour.  He 
knew  what  it  was  to  enjoy  the  satisfactions  which 
are  reaped  from  the  possession  of  beauty,  but  was 
an  utter  stranger  to  the  decencies,  honours,  and  de- 
licacies, that  attend  the  passion  towards  them  in 
elegant  minds.     However,  he  had  so  much  of  the 


NO.    491.  SPECTATOR.  119 

world,  that  he  had  a  great  share  of  the  language 
whicii  u?ually  prevails  upon  the  weaker  part  of  that 
sex  ;  and  he  could  with  his  tongue  utter  a  passion 
with  which  his  heart  was  wholly  untouched.  He 
was  one  of  those  brutal  minds  which  can  be  gratified 
with  the  violation  of  innocence  and  beauty,  without 
the  least  pity,  passion,  or  love,  to  that  with  which 
they  are  so  much  delighted.  Ingratitude  is  a  vice 
inseparable  to  a  lustful  man ;  and  the  possession  of 
a  woman  by  him,  who  has  no  thought  but  allaying 
a  passion  painful  to  himself,  is  necessarily  followed 
bj  distaste  and  aversion.  Rhynsault,  being  re- 
solved to  accomplish  his  will  on  the  wife  of  Danvelt, 
left  no  arts  untried  to  get  into  a  familiarity  at  her 
house  ;  but  she  knew  his  character  and  disposition 
too  well,  not  to  shun  all  occasions  that  might  ensnare 
her  into  his  conversation.  The  governor,  despair- 
ing of  success  by  ordinary  means,  apprehended  and 
imprisoned  her  husband,  under  pretence  of  an  in- 
formation, that  he  was  guilty  of  a  correspondence 
with  the  enemies  of  the  duke  to  betray  the  town 
into  their  possession.  This  design  had  its  desired 
eflFect ;  and  the  wife  of  the  unfortunate  Danvelt,  the 
day  before  that  which  was  appointed  for  his  execu- 
tion, presented  herself  in  the  hall  of  the  governor's 
house;  and,  as  he  passed  through  the  apartment, 
threw  herself  at  his  feet,  and,  holding  his  knees, 
beseeched  his  mercy.  Rhynsault  beheld  her  with 
a  dissembled  satisfaction ;  and,  assuming  an  air  of 
thought  and  authority,  he  bid  her  arise,  and  told 
her  she  must  follow  him  to  his  closet ;  and,  asking 
her  whether  she  knew  the  hand  of  the  letter  he 
pulled  out  of  his  pocket,  went  from  her,  leaving 
this  admonition  aloud :  '  If  you  will  save  your  hus- 
band, you  must  give  me  an  account  of  all  you  know 
without  prevarication ;  for  everybody  is  satisfied  he 


120  SPECTATOR.  NO.  491. 

was  too  fond  of  you  to  be  able  to  hide  from  you  the 
names  of  the  rest  of  the  coiisj)irators,  or  any  other 
particuhirs  whatsoever.'  He  went  to  his  closet,  and 
soon  afier  the  lady  was  sent  for  to  an  audience. 
The  servant  knew  his  distance  when  matters  of 
state  were  to  be  debated  ;  and  the  governor,  laying 
aside  the  air  with  which  he  had  apjjcared  in  public, 
began  to  be  the  suj)j)licant,  to  rally  an  aftliction, 
which  it  was  in  her  power  easily  to  remove,  and  re- 
lieve an  innocent  man  from  his  im})risonment.  She 
easily  perceived  his  intention ;  and  bathed  in  tears, 
began  to  depi'ecate  so  wicked  a  design.  Lust,  like 
ambition,  takes  in  all  the  faculties  of  the  mind  and 
body  into  its  service  and  subjection.  Her  becoming 
tears,  her  honest  anguish,  the  wringing  of  her  hands, 
and  the  many  changes  of  her  posture  and  figure  in 
the  vehemence  of  speaking,  were  but  so  many  atti- 
tudes in  which  he  beheld  her  beauty,  and  further 
incentives  of  his  desire.  All  humanity  was  lost  in 
that  one  appetite,  and  he  signified  to  her,  in  so  many 
plain  terms,  that  he  was  unhappy  till  he  had  pos- 
sessed her,  and  nothing  less  should  be  the  price  of 
her  husband's  life ;  and  she  must  before  the  follow- 
ing noon  pronounce  the  death,  or  enlargeni<;nt,  of 
Danvelt.  iy'ter  this  notification,  when  he  saw  Sap- 
phira  enough  again  distracted,  to  make  the  subject 
of  their  discourse  to  common  eyes  appear  different 
from  what  it  was,  he  called  servants  to  conduct  her 
to  the  gate.  Loaded  with  insupportable  atlliction, 
she  immediately  repairs  to  her  husband  ;  and  hav- 
ing signified  to  his  gaolers  that  she  had  a  proposal 
to  make  to  her  husband  from  the  governor,  she  w^as 
left  alone  with  him,  revealed  to  him  all  that  had 
passed,  and  represented  the  endless  confiict  she 
was  in  between  love  to  his  person,  and  fidelity  to 
his  bed.     It  is  easy  to  imagine  the  sharp  afiliction 


NO.   491.  SPECTATOR.  121 

this  honest  pair  was  in  upon  such  an  incident,  in 
lives  not  used  to  any  but  ordinaiy  occurrences. 
The  man  was  bridled  by  shame  from  speaking  what 
his  fear  prompted,  upon  so  near  an  approach  of 
death ;  but  let  fall  words  that  signified  to  her,  he 
should  not  think  her  polluted,  though  she  had  not 
yet  confessed  to  him  that  the  governor  had  violated 
her  person,  since  he  knew  her  will  had  no  part  in 
the  action.  She  parted  from  him  with  this  oblique 
permission  to  save  a  life  he  had  not  resolution 
enough  to  resign  for  the  safety  of  his  honour. 

The  next  morning  the  unhappy  Sapphira  attended 
the  governor,  and,  being  led  into  a  remote  apart- 
ment, submitted  to  his  desires.  Rhynsault  com- 
mended her  charms,  claimed  a  familiarity  after  what 
had  passed  between  them,  and  with  an  air  of  gayety, 
in  the  language  of  a  gallant,  bid  her  return,  and 
take  her  husband  out  of  prison  ;  '  but,'  continued  he, 
'  my  fair  one  must  not  be  oifended  that  I  have  taken 
care  he  should  not  be  an  interruption  to  our  future 
assignations.'  These  last  words  foreboded  what  she 
found  when,  she  came  to  the  gaol — her  husband 
executed  by  the  order  of  Rhynsault ! 

It  was  remarkable  that  the  woman,  who  was  full 
of  tears  and  lamentations  during  the  whole  course  of 
her  affliction,  uttered  neither  sigh  nor  complaint, 
but  stood  fixed  with  grief  at  this  consummation  of 
her  misfortunes.  She  betook  herself  to  her  abode ; 
and  after  having  in  solitude  paid  her  devotions  to 
Him  who  is  the  avenger  of  innocence,  she  repaired 
privately  to  court.  Her  person,  and  a  certain  gran- 
deur of  sorrow,  negligent  of  forms,  gained  her  pass- 
age into  the  presence  of  the  duke  her  sovereign. 
As  soon  as  she  came  into  the  presence,  she  broke 
forth  into  the  following  words  :  '  Behold,  O  mighty 
Charles,  a  wretch  weary  of  life,  though   it  has  al- 


122  SrKCTATOR.  NO.    491. 

ways  been  spent  with  innocence  and  virtue.  It  is 
not  in  your  power  to  redress  my  injuries,  but  it  is 
to  avenge  tliem.  And  if  the  protection  of  the  dis- 
tressed, and  the  punisliment  of  oppressors,  is  a  task 
worthy  a  prince,  I  bring  the  Duke  of  Burgundy 
ani[)le  matter  for  doing  honour  to  his  own  great 
name,  and  wiping  infamy  off  of  mine.' 

Wlien  slie  liad  spoken  tliis,  she  deHvered  the  duke 
a  pajier  reciting  her  story.  He  read  it  with  all  the 
emotions  that  indignation  and  pity  could  raise  in  a 
prince  jealous  of  his  lionour  in  the  behaviour  of  his 
officers,  and  prosperity  of  his  subjects. 

Upon  an  appointed  day,  Rhynsault  was  sent  for 
to  court,  and,  in  the  presence  of  a  few  of  the  council, 
confronted  by  Sapphira.  The  prince  asking,  '  Do 
you  know  that  lady  ? '  Rhynsault,  as  soon  as  he 
could  recover  his  surprise,  told  the  duke  he  would 
marry  her,  if  his  highness  would  please  to  think 
that  a  reparation.  The  duke  seemed  contented  with 
this  answer,  and  stood  by  during  the  immediate 
solemnizationof  the  ceremony.  At  the  conclusion 
of  it,  he  told  Rhynsault,  '  Thus  far  yo.u  have  done 
as  constrained  by  my  authority  ;  I  shall  not  be  satis- 
fied of  your  kind  usage  of  her,  without  you  sign  a 
gift  of  your  whole  estate  to  her  after  your  decease.' 
To  the  performance  of  this  also  the  duke  was  a 
witness.  When  these  two  acts  were  executed,  the 
duke  turned  to  the  lady,  and  told  her,  '  It  now  i-e- 
mains  for  me  to  put  you  in  quiet  possession  of  what 
your  husband  has  so  bountifully  bestowed  on  you  ; ' 
and  ordered  the  immediate  execution  of  Rhynsault. 
T 


NO.   492.  SPECTATOR.  123 


No.  492.     WEDNESDAY,  SEPTEMBER  24,  1712. 


Quicqukl  est  boni  moris  levitate  extinguitur.  seneca. 

Levity  of  behaviour  is  the  bane  of  all  that  is  good  and  virtuous. 
"  DEAR   MR.    SPECTATOR, 

"  I  am  a  young  woman  of  eighteen  years  of  age, 
and  I  do  assure  you  a  maid  of  unspotted  reputation, 
founded  upon  a  very  careful  carriage  in  all  ray  looks, 
words,  and  actions.  At  the  same  time  I  must  own 
to  you,  that  it  is  with  much  constraint  to  flesh  and 
blood  that  my  behaviour  is  so  strictly  irreproachable ; 
for  I  am  naturally  addicted  to  mirth,  to  gayety,  to 
a  free  air,  to  motion,  and  gadding.  Now,  what  gives 
me  a  great  deal  of  anxiety,  and  is  some  discourage- 
ment in  the  pursuit  of  virtue,  is,  that  the  young 
women  who  run  into  greater  freedoms  with  the  men 
are  more  taken  notice  of  than  I  am.  The  men  are 
such  unthinking  sots,  that  they  do  not  pi-efer  her 
who  restrains  all  her  passions  and  affections,  and 
keeps  much  within  the  bounds  of  what  is  lawful,  to 
her  who  goes  to  the  utmost  verge  of  innocence,  and 
pax'leys  at  the  very  brink  of  vice,  whether  she  shall 
be  a  wife  or  a  mistress.  But  I  must  appeal  to  your 
Spectatorial  wisdom,  who,  I  find,  have  passed  very 
much  of  your  time  in  the  study  of  woman,  whether 
this  is  not  a  most  unreasonable  proceeding.  I  have 
read  somewhere  that  Hobbes,  of  Malmesbury,  as- 
serts that  continent  persons  have  more  of  what  they 
contain,  than  those  who  give  a  loose  to  their  desires. 


124  SPECTATOR.  NO.   492 

AccorJing  to  this  riili\  let  tliere  be  equal  age,  equal 
wit,  and  equal  good-liiiniuur,  in  the  woman  of  pru- 
dence, and  her  of  liberty  ;  what  stores  has  he  to 
expect  who  takes  the  former?  AVhat  refuse  must 
lie  be  contented  with  who  chooses  the  latter?  Well, 
but  I  sat  down  to  write  to  you  to  vent  my  in- 
dignation against  several  pert  creatures  who  are 
addressed  to  and  courted  in  tliis  place,  while  poor 
I,  and  two  or  three  like  me,  are  wholly  unre- 
garded. 

"  Every  one  of  these  affect  gaining  the  hearts  of 
your  sex.  This  is  generally  attempted  by  a  jiarti- 
cular  manner  of  carrying  themselves  with  familiar- 
ity. Glycera  has  a  dancing  walk,  and  keeps  time 
in  her  ordinary  gait.  Chloe,  her  sister,  who  is  un- 
willing to  interrupt  her  conquests,  comes  into  the 
room  before  her  with  a  familiar  run.  Dulcissa 
takes  advantage  of  the  ap[)roach  of  the  winter,  and 
has  introduced  a  very  pretty  shiver;  closing  up  her 
shoulders,  and  shrinking  as  she  moves.  All  that 
are  in  this  mode  carry  their  fans  between  both  hands 
before  them.  Dulcissa,  herself,  who  is  author  of 
this  air,  adds  the  pretty  run  to  it ;  and  has  also,  when 
she  is  in  very  good-humour,  a  taking  familiarity  in 
throwing  herself  into  the  lowest  seat  in  the  room, 
and  letting  her  hooped  petticoats  fall  with  a  lucky 
decency  about  her.  I  know  she  practises  this  way 
of  sitting  down  in  her  chamber;  and,  indeed,  she 
does  it  as  well  as  you  may  have  seen  an  actress  fall 
down  dead  in  a  tragedy.  Not  the  least  indecency 
in  her  posture.  If  you  have  observed  what  pretty 
carcases  are  carried  off  at  the  end  of  a  verse  at  the 
theatre,  it  will  give  you  a  notion  how  Dulcissa 
plumps  into  a  chair.  Here  is  a  little  country  girl 
that  is  very  cunning,  that  makes  her  use  of  being 
young  and  unbred,  and  outdoes  the  ensnarers,  who 


NO.  492.  SPECTATOR.  125 

are  almost  twice  hex*  age.  The  air  that  she  takes 
is  to  come  into  company  after  a  walk,  and  is  very 
successfully  out  of  breath  upon  occasion.  Her 
mother  is  in  the  secret,  and  calls  her  romp,  and 
then  looks  round  to  see  what  young  men  stare  at 
her. 

"  It  would  take  up  more  than  can  come  into  one 
of  your  papers,  to  enumerate  all  the  particular  airs 
of  the  younger  company  in  this  place.  But  I  cannot 
omit  Dulceorella,  wliose  manner  is  the  most  indo' 
lent  imaginable,  but  still,  as  watchful  of  conquest  as 
the  busiest  virgin  among  us.  She  has  a  peculiar 
art  of  staring  at  a  young  fellow,  till  she  sees  she  has 
got  him,  and  inflamed  him  by  so  much  observation. 
When  she  sees  she  has  him,  and  he  begins  to  toss 
his  head  upon  it,  siie  is  immediately  short-sighted, 
and  labours  to  observe  what  he  is  at  a  distance,  with 
her  eyes  half  shut.  Thus  the  captive  that  thought 
her  first  struck,  is  to  make  veiy  near  approaches, 
or  be  wholly  disregarded.  This  artifice  has  done 
more  execution  than  all  the  ogling  of  the  rest  of 
the  women  here,  with  the  utmost  variety  of  half 
glances,  attentive  heedlessnesses,  childish  inadvert- 
ences, haughty  contempts,  or  artificial  oversights. 
After  I  have  said  thus  much  of  ladies  among  us  who 
fight  thus  regularly,  I  am  to  complain  to  you  of  a 
set  of  familiar  romps,  who  have  broken  through  all 
common  rules,  and  have  thought  of  a  very  effectual 
way  of  showing  more  charms  than  all  of  us.  These, 
Mr.  Spectatoi-,  are  the  swingers.  You  are  to  know 
these  careless  pretty  creatures  are  very  innocents 
again;  and  it  is  to  be  no  matter  what  they  do,  for  it 
is  all  hai-mless  freedom.  They  get  on  ropes,  as  you 
must  have  seen  the  children,  and  are  swung  by  their 
men  visitants.  The  jest  is,  that  Mr.  Such-a-one  can 
name  the  colour  of  Mrs.   Such-a-one's  stockings; 


126  Sl'lXTATOU.  NO.    492. 

and  she  tells  bim  he  is  a  lying  thief,  so  he  is,  and 
full  of  roguery ;  and  she  will  lay  a  wager,  and  her 
sister  shall  tell  the  truth  if  he  says  right,  and  he 
cannot  tell  what  colour  her  garters  are  of.  In  this 
diversion  there  are  very  many  pretty  shrieks,  not 
so  much  for  fear  of  falling,  as  that  their  petticoats 
should  untie;  for  there  is  a  great  care  had  to  avoid 
improprieties  ;  and  the  lover  who  swings  the  hidy  is 
to  tie  her  clothes  very  close  with  his  hatband,  be- 
fore she  admits  him  to  throw  up  her  heels." 

"  Now,  Mr.  Spectator,  except  you  can  note  these 
wantonnesses  in  their  beginnings,  and  bring  us  sober 
girls  into  observation,  there  is  no  help  for  it;  we 
must  swim  with  the  tide ;  the  coquettes  are  too 
powerful  a  party  for  us.  To  look  into  the  merit  of 
a  regular  and  well-behaved  woman  is  a  slow  thing. 
A  loose,  trivial  song  gains  the  affections,  when  a 
wise  homily  is  not  attended  to.  There  is  no  other 
way  but  to  make  war  upOn  them,  or  we  must  go 
over  to  them.  As  for  my  part,  I  will  sliow  all  the 
world  it  is  not  for  want  of  charms  that  I  stand  so 
long  unasked;  and  if  you  do  not  take  measures  for 
the  immediate  redress  of  us  rigids,  as  the  fellows 
call  us,  I  can  move  with  a  speaking  mien,  can  look 
significantly,  can  lisp,  can  trip,  can  loll,  can  start, 
can  blush,  can  rage,  can  weep,  if  I  must  do  it,  and 
can  be  frighted  as  agreeably  as  any  she  in  England. 
All  which  is  humbly  submitted  to  your  Spectatorial 
consideration,  with  all  humility,  by 

"  Your  most  humble  servant, 
T  "  Matilda  Mohair." 

"  Tunbridge,  September  18." 


NO.   493.  SPECTATOR.  127 


No.  493.     THURSDAY,  SEPTEMBER  25,  1712. 


Qualem  commendes,  etiam  atque  etiam  adspice,  ne  mox 
Incutiant  aliena  tibi  peccata  pudorem. 

HOE.   EPIST.  i.  18.  76. 

Commend  not,  till  a  man  is  throughly  known: 
A  rascal  praised,  you  make  his  faults  your  own. 

ANON. 

It  is  no  unpleasant  matter  of  speculation  to  con- 
sider the  recommendatory  epistles  that  pass  round 
this  town  from  hand  to  hand,  and  the  abuse  people 
put  upon  one  another  in  that  kind.  It  is  indeed 
come  to  that  pass,  that,  instead  of  being  the  testi- 
mony of  merit  in  the  person  recommended,  the  true 
reading  of  a  letter  of  this  sort  is,  'The  bearer  hereof 
is  so  uneasy  to  me,  that  it  will  be  an  act  of  charity 
in  you  to  take  him  off  my  hands ;  whether  you  pre- 
fer him  or  not,  it  is  all  one ;  for  I  have  no  manner 
of  kindness  for  him,  or  obligation  to  him  or  his  ; 
and  do  what  you  please  as  to  that.'  As  negligent 
as  men  are  in  this  respect,  a  point  of  honour  is  con- 
cerned in  it ;  and  there  is  nothing  a  man  should  be 
more  ashamed  of,  than  passing  a  worthless  creature 
into  the  service  or  interests  of  a  man  who  has  never 
injured  you.  The  women,  indeed,  are  a  little  too 
keen  in  their  resentments  to  trespass  often  this  way; 
but  you  shall  sometimes  know,  that  the  mistress  and 
the  maid  shall  quarrel,  and  give  each  other  very  free 
language,  and  at  last  the  lady  shall  be  pacified  to 
turn  her  out  of  doors,  and  give  her  a  very  good 
word  to  anybody  else.     Hence  it  is  that  you  see, 


128  SPKCTATOU.  NO.    498. 

in  a  year  and  lialfs  lime,  the  same  face  a  domestic 
in  all  j)arts  of  the  town.  Good-hreeding  and  good- 
nature lead  people  in  a  great  measure  to  this  injus- 
tice ;  when  suitors  of  no  consideration  will  have 
confidence  enough  to  press  npon  their  superiors, 
those  in  power  arc  tender  of  speaking  the  excep- 
tions they  have  against  them,  and  are  mortgaged 
into  promises  out  of  their  impatience  of  im|)ortuiiity. 
In  this  latter  case,  it  would  be  a  very  useful  inquiry 
to  know  the  history  of  recommendations.  There 
are,  you  must  know,  certain  abettors  of  this  way  of 
torment,  who  make  it  a  profession  to  manage  the  af- 
fairs of  candidates.  Tliese  gentlemen  let  out  their 
impudence  to  their  clients,  and  supply  any  defective 
recommendation,  by  informing  how  such  and  such 
a  man  is  to  be  attacked.  They  will  tell  you,  get 
the  least  scrap  from  Mr.  Such-a-one,  and  leave  the 
rest  to  them.  When  one  of  these  undertakers  has 
your  business  in  hand,  you  may  be  sick,  absent  in 
town  or  country,  and  the  patron  shall  be  worried, 
or  you  prevail.  I  rememl)er  to  have  been  shown  a 
gentleman  some  years  ago,  who  punished  a  whole 
peo))le  for  their  facility  in  giving  their  credentials. 
This  j)crson  had  belonged  to  a  regiment  which  did 
duty  in  the  West  Indies,  and,  by  the  mortality  of 
the  place,  happened  to  be  commanding  officer  in  the 
colony.  lie  oppressed  his  subjects  with  great  frank- 
ness, till  he  became  sensible  that  he  was  heartily 
hated  by  every  man  under  his  command.  When 
he  had  carried  his  point  to  be  thus  detestable,  in  a 
pretended  lit  of  dishumour,  and  feigned  uneasiness 
of  living  where  he  found  he  was  so  universally  un- 
acceptable, he  communicated  to  the  chief  inhabitants 
a  design  he  had  to  return  for  England,  provided 
they  would  give  him  ample  testimonials  of  their  ap- 
probation.    The  planters  came  into  it  to  a  man, 


NO.  493.  SPECTATOR.  129 

and,  in  proportion  to  his  deserving  the  quite  con- 
trary, the  words  justice,  generosity,  and  courage, 
were  inserted  in  his  commission,  not  omitting  the 
general  good-liking  of  people  of  all  conditions  in  the 
colony.  The  gentleman  returns  for  England,  and 
within  a  few  months  after  came  back  to  them  their 
governor,  on  the  strength  of  their  own  testimonials. 

Such  a  rebuke  as  this  cannot  indeed  happen  to 
easy  recommenders,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  things 
from  one  hand  to  another ;  but  how  would  a  man 
bear  to  have  it  said  to  him,  '  The  person  I  took  into 
confidence  on  the  credit  you  gave  him,  has  proved 
false,  unjust,  and  has  not  answered  any  way  the 
character  you  gave  me  of  him  ?  ' 

I  cannot  but  conceive  very  good  hopes  of  that 
rake  Jack  Toper  of  the  Temple,  for  an  honest  scru- 
pulousness in  this  point.  A  friend  of  his  meeting 
with  a  servant  that  had  formerly  lived  with  Jack, 
and  having  a  mind  to  take  him,  sent  to  him  to  know 
what  faults  the  fellow  had,  since  he  could  not  please 
such  a  careless  fellow  as  he  was.  His  answer  was 
as  follows  : 

"SIR, 

"Thomas  that  lived  with  me  was  turned  away 
because  he  was  too  good  for  me.  You  know  I  live 
in  taverns  ;  he  is  an  orderly,  sober  rascal,  and  thinks 
much  to  sleep  in  an  entry  till  two  in  a  morning. 
He  told  me  one  day,  when  he  was  dressing  me,  that 
he  wondered  I  was  not  dead  before  now,  since  I 
went  to  dinner  in  the  evening,  and  went  to  supper 
at  two  in  the  morn  in";.  We  were  com  i  no;  down 
Essex-street  one  night  a  little  flustered,  and  I  was 
giving  him  the  word  to  alarm  the  watch  ;  he  had  the 
impudence  to  tell  me  it  was  against  the  law.  You 
that  are  married,  and  live  one  day  after  another  the 

VOL.   XI.  9 


130  SPECTATOR.  NO.   -198. 

same  way,  and  so  on  the  wliole  week,  I  dare  say 
will  like  liiin,  and  lie  will  l>e  glad  to  have  his  meat 
in  due  season.  The  fellow  is  eertainly  very  honest. 
My  service  to  your  lady. 

"  Yours, 

"J.  T." 

Now  this  was  very  fair  dealing.  Jack  knew 
very  well,  that  though  the  love  of  order  made  a 
man  very  awkward  in  his  equipage,  it  was  a  valu- 
able quality  among  the  queer  people  who  live  by 
rule  ;  and  had  too  much  good-sense  and  good-nature 
to  let  the  fellow  starve,  because  he  was  not  tit  to 
attend  his  vivacities. 

I  shall  end  this  discourse  with  a  letter  of  recom- 
mendation from  Horace  to  Claudius  Nero.  You 
will  see  in  that  letter  a  slowness  to  ask  a  favour, 
a  strong  reason  for  being  unable  to  deny  his  good 
word  any  longer,  and  that  it  is  a  service  to  the  per- 
son to  whom  he  recommends,  to  comply  with  what 
is  asked ;  all  which  are  necessary  circumstances, 
both  in  justice  and  good-breeding,  if  a  man  would 
ask  so  as  to  have  reason  to  complain  of  a  denial ; 
and  indeed  a  man  should  not  in  strictness  ask  other- 
wise. In  hopes  the  authority  of  Horace,  who  per- 
fectly understood  how  to  live  with  great  men,  may 
have  a  good  eifect  towards  amending  this  facility  in 
people  of  condition,  and  the  confidence  of  those  who 
apply  to  them  without  merit,  I  have  translated  the 
epistle. 

'  TO    CLAUDIUS   NERO. 
*SIK, 

'  Septimus,  who  waits  upon  you  with  this,  is 
very  well  acquainted  with  the  place  you  are  pleased 
to  allow  me  in  your  friendship.     For  when  he  be- 


NO.   494.  SPECTATOR.  131 

seeches  me  to  recommend  him  to  your  notice,  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  be  received  by  you,  who  are 
delicate  in  the  choice  of  your  friends  and  domestics, 
he  knows  our  intimacy,  and  understands  my  ability 
to  serve  him  better  tlian  I  do  myself.  I  have  de- 
fended myself  against  his  ambition  to  be  yours,  as 
long  as  I  possibly  could  ;  but  fearing  the  imputation 
of  hiding  my  power  in  you  out  of  mean  and  selfish 
considerations,  I  am  at  last  prevailed  upon  to  give 
you  this  trouble.  Thus,  to  avoid  the  appearance  of 
a  greater  fault,  I  have  put  on  this  conlidence.  If 
you  can  forgive  this  transgression  of  modesty  in  be- 
half of  a  friend,  receive  this  gentleman  into  your 
interests  and  friendship,  and  take  it  from  me  that 
he  is  an  honest  and  a  brave  man.' 


No.  494.    FRIDAY,  SEPTEMBER  26,  1712. 


uEgritudinein  lamlare^  unam  rem  maxime  detestabilem,  quorum  est 
tandem  philosophorum  f  cicero. 

What  kind  of  philosophy  is  it  to  extol  melancholy,  the  most 
detestable  thing  in  nature  V 

About  an  age  ago  it  was  the  fashion  in  England 
for  every  one  that  would  be  thought  religious,  to 
throw  as  much  sanctity  as  possible  into  his  face, 
and  in  particular  to  abstain  from  all  appearances 
of  mirth  and  pleasantry,  which  were  looked  upon 
as  the  mai'ks  of  a  carnal  mind.  The  saint  was  of  a 
sorrowful  countenance,  and  generally  eaten  up  with 


132  SPKCT.VTuK.  NO.    494. 

spleen  and  melancholy.  A  gentleman,  who  was 
lately  a  great  ornament*  to  the  learned  world,  has 
diverted  me  more  than  once  with  an  account  of  the 
reception  which  he  met  with  from  a  very  famous  in- 
dependent minister,  who  was  head  of  a  college  f  in 
those  times.  This  gentleman  was  then  a  young  ad- 
venturer in  the  republic  of  letters,  and  just  fitted 
out  for  the  university  with  a  good  cargo  of  Latin 
and  Greek.  His  friends  were  resolved  tliat  he 
should  try  his  fortune  at  an  election  which  was  draw- 
ing near  in  the  college,  of  which  the  independent 
minister  whom  I  have  betbre  mentioned  was  gover- 
nor. Tlie  youth,  according  to  custom,  waited  on 
him  in  order  to  be  examined.  He  was  received  at 
the  door  by  a  servant  who  was  one  of  that  gloomy 
generation  that  were  then  in  fashion.  He  conducted 
him,  with  great  silence  and  seriousness,  to  a  long 
gallery,  which  was  darkened  at  noon-day,  and  had 
only  a  single  candle  burning  in  it.  After  a  short 
stay  in  this  melancholy  apartment,  he  was  led  into 
a  chamber  hung  with  black,  where  he  entertained 
himself  for  some  lime  by  the  glimmering  of  a  taper, 
till  at  length  the  head  of  the  college  came  out  to 
him  from  an  inner  room,  with  half  a  dozen  night- 
caps upon  his  head,  and  a  religious  horror  in  his 
countenance.  The  young  man  trembled  ;  but  his 
fears  increased,  when,  instead  of  being  asked  what 
progress  he  had  made  in  learning,  he  was  examined 
how  he  abounded  in  grace.  His  Latin  and  Greek 
stood  him  in  little  stead  ;  he  was  to  give  an  account 
only  of  the  state  of  his  soul ;  whether  he  was  of  the 
number  of  the  elect ;  what  was  the  occasion  of  his 

*  The  gentleman  here  alluded  to  wivs  Anthony  Henley,  Esq. 
who  died  much  lamented  in  August,  1711. 

t  The  head  of  a  college  was  l)r.  Thomas  Goodwin,  S.  T.  P. 
President  of  Magdalen  College  in  Oxford,  and  one  of  the  assem- 
bly of  divines  who  sat  at  Westminster. 


NO.   494.  SPECTATOR.  133 

conversion  ;  upon  what  day  of  the  month,  and  hour 
of  the  day  it  happened ;  how  it  was  carried  on, 
and  when  completed.  The  whole  examination  was 
summed  up  with  one  short  question,  namely,  whe- 
ther he  was  prepared  for  death  ?  The  boy,  who 
had  been  bred  up  by  honest  parents,  was  frighted 
out  of  his  wits  at  the  solemnity  of  the  proceeding, 
and  especially  by  the  last  dreadful  interrogatory ; 
so  that,  upon  making  his  escape  out  of  this  house  of 
mourning,  he  could  never  be  brought  a  second  time 
to  the  examination,  as  not  being  able  to  go  through 
the  terrors  of  it. 

Notwithstanding  this  general  form  and  outside  of 
religion  is  pretty  well  worn  out  among  us,  there 
are  many  persons  who,  by  a  natural  uncheerfulness 
of  heart,  mistaken  notions  of  piety,  or  weakness  of 
understanding,  love  to  indulge  this  uncomfortable 
way  of  life,  and  give  up  themselves  a  prey  to  grief 
and  melancholy.  Superstitious  fears  and  groundless 
scruples  cut  them  off  from  the  pleasures  of  conver- 
sation, and  all  those  social  entertainments,  which 
are  not  only  innocent,  but  laudable  ;  as  if  mirth  was 
made  for  reprobates,  and  cheerfulness  of  heart  de- 
nied those  who  are  the  only  persons  that  have  a 
proper  title  to  it. 

Sombrius  is  one  of  these  sons  of  sorrow.  He 
thinks  himself  obliged  in  duty  to  be  sad  and  discon- 
solate. He  looks  on  a  sudden  fit  of  laughter  as 
a  breach  of  his  baptismal  vow.  An  innocent  jest 
startles  him  like  blaspliemy.  Tell  him  of  one  who 
is  advanced  to  a  title  of  honour,  he  lifts  up  his  hands 
and  eyes  ;  describe  a  public  ceremony,  he  shakes 
his  head  ;  show  him  a  gay  equipage,  he  blesses  him- 
self. All  the  little  ornaments  of  life  are  pomps  and 
vanities.  Mirth  is  wanton,  and  wit  profane.  He 
is  scandalized  at  youth  for  being  lively,  and  at  child- 


134  SPECTATOR.  NO.   494. 

hood  for  being  playful.  lie  sils  at  a  christening,  or 
a  nuirriage  feast,  as  at  a  funeral  ;  sighs  at  the  con- 
clusion of  a  merry  story,  and  grows  devout  when 
the  rest  of  the  company  grow  pleasant.  After  all, 
Sombrius  is  a  religious  man,  and  would  have  be- 
haved himself  very  properly,  had  he  lived  when 
Christianity  was  under  a  general  persecution. 

I  would  by  no  means  presume  to  tax  such  charac- 
ters with  hypocrisy,  as  is  done  too  fre({uently  ;  that 
being  a  vice  which  I  think  none  but  lie  who  knows 
the  seci'ets  of  men's  hearts  should  pretend  to  disco- 
ver in  another,  where  the  proofs  of  it  do  not  amount 
to  a  demonstration.  On  the  contrary,  as  tliere  are 
many  excellent  persons  who  are  weighed  down  by 
this  habitual  sorrow  of  heart,  they  rather  deserve 
our  compassion  than  our  reproaches.  I  think,  how- 
ever, they  would  do  well  to  consider  whether  such 
a  behaviour  does  not  deter  men  from  a  religious  life, 
by  representing  it  as  an  unsociable  state,  that  ex- 
tinguishes all  joy  and  gladness,  darkens  the  face  of 
nature,  and  destroys  tlie  relish  of  being  itself. 

I  have,  in  former  papers,  shown  how  great  a  tend- 
ency there  is  to  cheerfulness  in  religion,  and  how 
such  a  frame  of  mind  is  not  only  the  most  lovely, 
but  the  most  commendable  in  a  virtuous  person.  In 
short,  those  who  represent  religion  in  so  unamiable 
a  light,  are  like  the  spies  sent  by  Moses  to  make  a 
discovery  of  the  Land  of  Promise,  when  by  their 
reports  they  discouraged  the  people  from  entering 
upon  it.  Those  who  show  us  the  joy,  the  cheerful- 
ness, the  good-humour,  that  naturally  spring  up  in 
this  happy  state,  are  like  the  spies  bringing  along 
with  them  the  clusters  of  grapes,  and  delicious  fruits, 
that  might  invite  their  companions  into  the  pleasant 
country  which  produced  them.* 
*  Numb.  ch.  xiii. 


NO.   494. 


SPECTATOR.  135 


An  eminent  pagan  writer  *  has  made  a  discourse 
to  show  that  the  atheist,  who  denies  a  God,  does 
him  less  dishonour  than  the  man  who  owns  his  be- 
ing, but  at  the  same  time  beheves  him  to  be  cruel, 
hard  to  please,  and  terrible  to  human  nature.  '  For 
my  own  part,'  says  he,  '  I  would  rather  it  should  be 
said  of  me,  that  there  was  never  any  such  man  as 
Plutarch,  than  that  Plutarch  was  ill-natured,  capri- 
cious, or  inhuman.' 

If  we  may  believe  our  logicians,  man  is  distin- 
guished fi-om  all  other  creatures  by  the  faculty  of 
laughter.  He  has  a  heart  capable  of  mirth,  and 
naturally  disposed  to  it.  It  is  not  the  business  of 
virtue  to  extirpate  the  affections  of  the  mind,  but  to 
reo-ulate  them.  It  may  moderate  and  restrain,  but 
was  not  designed  to  banish  gladness  from  the  heart 
of  man.  Religion  contracts  the  circle  of  our  plea- 
sures, but  leaves  it  wide  enough  for  her  votaries  to 
expatiate  in.  The  contemplation  of  the  Divine 
Being,  and  the  exercise  of  virtue,  are,  in  their  own 
nature,  so  far  from  excluding  all  gladness  of  heart, 
that  they  are  perpetual  sources  of  it.  In  a  word, 
the  true  spirit  of  religion  cheers,  as  well  as  com- 
poses, the  soul;  it  banishes,  indeed,  all  levity  of 
behaviour,  all  vicious  and  dissolute  mirth ;  but  in 
exchange,  fills  the  mind  with  a  perpetual  serenity, 
uninterrupted  cheerfulness,  and  an  habitual  inclina- 
tion to  please  others,  as  well  as  to  be  pleased  in 
itself. 
O 

*  Plut.  Uepl  Aeiaidaiiioviag.  Plut.  Opera,  torn.  i.  p.  286,  H. 
Steph.  1572,  12mo. 


186  SPECTATOR.  NO.   496. 


No.  495.     SATURDAY,  SEPTEMBER  27,  1712. 


Duris  ut  ilex  tonsa  bipennibus, 
NigrcE  fcraci  frondis  in  Alaido, 
Per  damna,  per  casi/es,  ao  ipso 
Ducit  opes  animumque  ferro. 

HOE.  CAR.  iv.  4.  57. 

— Like  an  oak  on  some  cold  mountain  brow, 
At  ev'ry  wound  they  !=prout  and  grow: 
The  axe  and  sword  new  vigour  give, 
And  by  their  rurns  they  revive.  anon. 

As  I  am  one  who,  by  ray  profession,  am  obliged 
to  look  into  all  kinds  of"  men,  there  are  none  whom 
I  consider  with  so  much  pleasure,  as  those  wlio  iiave 
any  thing  new  or  extraordinary  in  their  cliaraclers, 
or  ways  of  living.  F'or  this  reason,  I  have  often 
amused  myself  with  speculations  on  the  race  of  peo- 
ple called  Jews,  many  of  whom  I  have  met  with  in 
most  of  the  considerable  towns  which  I  have  passed 
through  in  the  course  of  my  travels.  They  are,  in- 
deed, so  disseminated  through  all  the  trading  parts 
of  the  world,  that  they  are  become  the  instruments 
by  which  the  most  distant  nations  converse  with 
one  another,  and  by  which  mankind  are  knit  toge- 
ther in  a  general  correspondence.  They  are  like 
the  pegs  and  nails  in  a  great  building,  which,  though 
they  are  but  little  valued  in  themselves,  are  abso- 
lutely necessary  to  keep  the  whole  frame  together. 

That  I  may  not  fall  into  any  common  beaten 
tracks  of  observation,  I  shall  consider  thisjieople  in 
three  views.  First,  with  regard  to  tlieir  number; 
secondly,  their  dispersion ;   and  thirdly,  their   ad- 


NO.  495.  SPECTATOR.  137 

herence  to  their  religion  ;  and  afterwards  endeavour 
to  show,  first,  what  natural  reasons,  and,  secondly, 
what  providential  reasons,  maybe  assigned  for  these 
three  remarkable  particulars. 

The  Jews  are  looked  upon  by  many  to  be  as  nu- 
merous at  present,  as  they  were  formerly  in  the  land 
of  Canaan. 

This  is  wonderful,  considering  the  dreadful  slaugh- 
ter made  of  them  under  some  of  the  Roman  empe- 
rors, which  historians  describe  by  the  death  of  many 
hundred  thousands  in  a  war ;  and  the  innumerable 
massacres  and  persecutions  they  have  undergone  in 
Turkey,  as  well  as  in  all  Christian  nations  of  the 
world.  The  rabbins,  to  express  the  great  havoc 
which  has  been  sometimes  made  of  them,  tell  us, 
after  their  usual  manner  of  hyperbole,  that  there 
were  -such  torrents  of  holy  blood  shed,  as  carried 
rocks  of  a  hundred  yards  in  circumference  above 
three  miles  into  the  sea. 

Their  dispersion  is  the  second  remarkable  parti- 
cular in  this  people.  They  swarm  over  all  the  East, 
and  are  settled  in  the  remotest  parts  of  China.  They 
are  spread  through  most  of  the  nations  in  Europe 
and  Africa,  and  many  families  of  them  are  esta- 
blished in  the  West  Indies ;  not  to  mention  whole 
nations  bordering  on  Prester-John's  country,  and 
discovered  in  the  inner  parts  of  America,  if  we  may 
give  any  credit  to  their  own  writers. 

Their  firm  adherence  to  their  religion  is  no  less 
remarkable  than  their  numbers  and  dispersion,  espe- 
cially considering  it  as  persecuted  or  contemned 
over  the  face  of  the  whole  earth.  This  is  hkewise 
the  more  remarkable,  if  we  consider  the  frequent 
apostasies  of  this  people,  when  they  lived  under 
their  kings  in  the  land  of  promise,  and  within  sight 
of  their  temple. 


138  SPECTATOR.  NO.    495. 

If,  in  the  next  place,  we  examine  what  may  be 
the  natural  reasons  for  these  three  particulars  which 
we  find  in  the  Jews,  and  which  are  not  to  be  found 
in  any  other  religion  or  people,  I  can,  in  the  first 
place,  attribute  their  numbers  to  nothing  but  their 
constant  employment,  their  abstinence,  their  exemp- 
tion from  wars,  and,  above  all,  their  frequent  mar- 
riages;  for  they  look  on  celibacy  as  an  accursed 
state,  and  generally  are  married  before  twenty,  as 
hoping  the  Messiah  may  descend  from  them. 

The  dispersion  of  the  Jews  into  all  the  nations  of 
the  earth,  is  the  second  remarkable  particular  of 
that  people,  though  not  so  hard  to  be  accounted  for. 
They  were  always  in  rebellions  and  tumults  while 
they  had  the  temple  and  holy  city  in  view,  for 
which  reason  they  have  often  been  driven  out  of 
their  old  habitations  in  the  land  of  promise.  *They 
have  as  often  been  banished  out  of  most  other 
places  where  they  have  settled,  which  must  very 
much  disperse  and  scatter  a  people,  and  oblige  them 
to  seek  a  livelihood  where  they  can  find  it.  Besides, 
the  whole  people  is  now  a  race  of  such  merchants 
as  are  wanderers  by  profession,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  are  in  most,  if  not  all  places,  incai)able  of 
either  lands  or  offices,  that  might  engage  them  to 
make  any  part  of  the  world  tlieir  home. 

This  dispersion  would  pi'obal)ly  have  lost  their 
religion,  had  it  not  been  secured  by  the  strength  of 
its  constitution ;  for  they  are  to  live  all  in  a  body, 
and  generally  within  the  same  inclosure  ;  to  marry 
ainong  themselves,  and  to  eat  no  meats  that  are  not 
killed  or  prepared  their  own  way.  This  shuts  them 
out  from  all  table  conversation,  and  the  most  agree- 
able intercourses  of  life  ;  and,  by  consequence,  ex- 
cludes them  from  the  most  probable  means  of  con- 
version. 


NO.   495.  SPECTATOE.  139 

If,  in  the  last  place,  we  consider  what  providen- 
tial reason  may  be  assigned  for  these  three  particu- 
lars, we  shall  find  that  their  numbers,  dispersion, 
and  adherence  to  their  religion,  have  furnished 
every  age,  and  every  nation  of  the  world,  with  the 
strongest  arguments  for  the  Christian  faith,  not  only 
as  these  very  particulars  are  foretold  of  them,  but 
as  they  themselves  are  the  depositaries  of  these, 
and  all  the  other  prophecies,  which  tend  to  their 
own  confusion.  Their  number  furnishes  us  with  a 
sufficient  cloud  of  witnesses  that  attest  the  truth  of 
the  Old '  Bible.  Their  dispersion  spreads  these 
witnesses  through  all  parts  of  the  world.  The 
adherence  to  their  religion  makes  their  testimony 
unquestionable.  Had  the  whole  body  of  the  Jews 
been  converted  to  Christianity,  we  should  certainly 
have  thought  all  the  prophecies  of  the  Old  Testament, 
that  relate  to  the  coming  and  history  of  our  blessed 
Saviour,  forged  by  Christians,  and  have  looked  upon 
them,  with  the  prophecies  of  the  Sibyls,  as  made 
many  years  after  the  events  they  pretended  to 
foretell. 

O 


140  SPECTATOR.  NO.    496. 


No.  496.     MONDAY,  SEPTEMBER  29,  1712. 


'  Gnatiim  pariter  uii  his  decuit,  aut  etiam  amplius, 

Quod  ilki  ceUts  mayis  ad  luvc  uttnda  idonea  est. 

TER.    HEAUT.    ACT.  i.  SC.  1.  80. 

Your  son  ought  to  have  shared  in  these  things,  because  youth  is 
best  suited  to  the  enjoyment  of  them. 

"MR.   SPECTATOR, 

"Thosk  ancients  who  were  the  most  accurate  in 
their  remarks  on  the  genius  and  temper  of  man- 
kind, by  considering  the  various  bent  and  scope  of 
our  actions  througliout  the  progress  of  hfe,  have 
witli  great  exactness  allotted  inclinations  and  objects 
of  desire  particular  to  every  stage,  according  to  the 
different  circumstances  of  our  conversation  and  for- 
tune, through  the  several  periods  of  it.  Hence,  they 
were  disposed  easily  to  excuse  those  excesses  which 
might  possibly  arise  from  a  too  eager  pursuit  of  the 
affections  more  immediately  projjcr  to  each  state. 
They  indulged  the  levity  of  childhood  with  tender- 
ness, overlooked  the  gayety  of  youth  with  good-na- 
ture, tempered  the  forward  ambition  and  impatience 
of  ripened  manhood  with  discretion,  and  kindly  im- 
puted the  tenacious  avarice  of  old  men  to  their  want 
of  relish  for  any  other  enjoyment.  Such  allowances 
as  these  w^ere  no  less  advantageous  to  common  so- 
ciety than  obliging  to  particular  persons ;  for,  by 
maintaining  a  decency  and  regularity  in  the  course 
of  life,  they  supported  the  dignity  of  human  nature, 
which  then  suffers  the  greatest  violence  when  the 
order  of  things  is  inverted  ;  and  in  nothing  is  it  more 


NO.    496,  SPECTATOR.  141 

remarkably  vilified  and  ridiculous,  than  when  fee- 
bleness preposterously  attempts  to  adorn  itself  with 
that  outward  pomp  and  lustre,  which  serve  only  to 
set  off  the  bloom  of  youth  with  better  advantage.  I 
was  insensibly  carried  into  reflections  of  this  nature, 
by  just  now  meeting  Paulino,  who  is  in  his  climac- 
teric, bedecked  with  the  utmost  splendor  of  dress 
and  equipage,  and  giving  an  unbounded  loose  to  all 
manner  of  pleasure,  whilst  his  only  son  is  debarred 
all  innocent  diversion,  and  may  be  seen  frequently 
solacing  himself  in  the  Mall  with  no  other  attend- 
ance than  one  antiquated  servant  of  his  father's  for 
a  companion  and  director. 

''  It  is  a  monstrous  want  of  reflection,  that  a  man 
cannot  consider,  that  when  he  cannot  resign  the 
pleasures  of  life  in  his  decay  of  appetite  and  incli- 
nation to  them,  his  son  must  have  a  much  uneasier 
task  to  resist  the  impetuosity  of  growing  desires. 
The  skill  therefore  should  methinks  be,  to  let  a  son 
want  no  lawful  diversion,  in  proportion  to  his  future 
fortune,  and  the  figure  he  is  to  make  in  the  world. 
The  first  step  towards  virtue  that  I  have  observed, 
in  young  men  of  condition  that  have  run  in  excess- 
es, has  been,  that  they  had  a  regard  to  their  quality 
and  reputation  in  the  management  of  their  vices. 
Narrowness  in  their  circumstances  has  made  many 
youths,  to  supply  themselves  as  debauchees,  com- 
mence cheats  and  rascals.  The  father  who  allows 
his  son  to  his  utmost  ability  avoids  this  latter  evil, 
which  as  to  the  world  is  much  greater  than  the  for- 
mer. But  the  contrary  practice  has  prevailed  so 
much  among  some  men,  that  I  have  known  them 
deny  them  what  was  merely  necessary  for  educa- 
tion suitable  to  their  quality.  Poor  young  Antonio 
is  a  lamentable  instance  of  ill  conduct  in  this  kind. 
The  young  man  did  not  want  natural  talents  ;   but 


142  SPECTATOR.  NO.    496 

the  father  of  him  was  a  coxcomb,  who  affected  be- 
ing a  fine  gentleman  so  unmercifully,  that  he  could 
not  endure  in  his  sight,  or  the  frequent  mention  of 
one,  who  was  his  son,  growing  into  manhood,  and 
thrusting  him  out  of  the  gay  world.  I  have  often 
thought  the  father  took  a  secret  pleasure  in  reflect- 
ing that,  when  that  fine  house  and  seat  came  into 
the  next  hands,  it  would  revive  his  memory,  as  a 
person  who  knew  how  to  enjoy  them,  from  obser- 
vation of  the  rusticity  and  ignorance  of  his  succes- 
sor. Certain  it  is,  that  a  man  may,  if  he  will,  let 
his  heart  close  to  the  having  no  regard  to  any  thing 
but  his  dear  self,  even  with  exclusion  of  his  very 
children.  I  recommend  this  subject  to  your  consi- 
deration, and  am.  Sir, 

"  Your  most  humble  servant, 

«  T.  B." 

"  MK.    SPECTATOR, 

"  I  am  just  come  from  Tunbridge,  and  have  since 
my  return  read  Mrs.  Matilda  Mohair's  letter  to  you. 
She  pretends  to  make  a  niigiity  story  about  the  di- 
version of  swinging  in  that  place.  What  was  done, 
was  only  among  relations ;  and  no  man  swung  any 
woman  who  was  not  second  cousin  at  furthest.  She 
is  ])leased  to  say,  care  was  taken  that  the  gallants 
tied  the  ladies'  legs  before  they  were  wafted  into 
the  air.  Since  she  is  so  spitefid,  I  will  tell  you  the 
plain  truth. — There  was  no  such  nicety  observed, 
since  we  were  all,  as  T  just  now  told  you,  near  rela- 
tions ;  but  Mrs.  Mohair  herself  has  been  swung 
there,  and  she  invents  all  this  malice,  because  it 
was  observed  she  has  crooked  legs,  of  which  I  was 
an  eye-witness. 

'*  Your  humble  servant, 

"  Rachel  Shoestring." 

"London,  September  26,  1712." 


NO     496.  SPECTATOR.  143 

"  MR.   SPECTATOR, 

"  We  have  just  now  read  your  paper,  containing 
Mrs.  Mohair's  letter.  It  is  an  invention  of  her  own 
from  one  end  to  the  other ;  and  I  desire  you  would 
print  the  inclosed  letter  by  itself,  and  shorten  it  so 
as  to  come  within  the  compass  of  your  half  sheet. 
She  is  the  most  malicious  minx  in  the  World,  for  all 
she  looks  so  innocent.  Don't  leave  out  that  part 
about  her  being  in  love  with  her  father's  butler, 
which  makes  her  shun  men  ;  for  that  is  the  truest 
of  it  all. 

"  Your  humble  servant, 

''  Sarah  Trice." 

"  Tunbridge,  September  26,  1712." 

"  P.  S.  She  has  crooked  legs." 

"MR.    SPECTATOR, 

"  All  that  IMrs.  Mohair  is  so  vexed  at  against  the 
good  company  of  this  place  is,  that  we  all  know  she 
has  crooked  legs.  This  is  certainly  true.  I  don't 
care  for  putting  my  name,  because  one  would  not 
be  in  the  power  of  the  creature. 

"  Your  humble  servant,  unknown." 
"  Tunbridge,  September  26,  1712." 

"MR.    SPECTATOR, 

"That  insufferable  prude,  Mrs.  Mohair,  who  has 
told  such  stories  of  the  company  here,  is  with  child, 
for  all  her  nice  airs  and  her  crooked  legs.  Pray  be 
sure  to  put  her  in  for  both  those  two  things,  and 
you  will  oblige  everybody  here,  especially 
"  Your  humble  servant, 
T      '  Alice  Bluegarter." 

"  Tunbridge,  September  26,  1712." 


144  SPECTATOR.  NO.   497. 


No.  497.     TUESDAY,  SEPTEMBER  30,  1712. 


Oiirbc  karl  yaT^urrig  yepuv.  menandbb. 

A  cunning  old  fox  this ! 

A  FAVOUR  well  bestowed  is  almost  as  great  an 
honour  to  him  who  confers  it  as  to  him  who  receives 
it.  What  indeed  makes  for  the  superior  reputation 
of  the  patron  in  this  case  is,  that  he  is  always  sur- 
rounded with  specious  pretences  of  unworthy  can- 
didates, and  is  often  alone  in  the  kind  inclination  he 
has  towards  the  well  deserving.  Justice  is  the  first 
quality  in  the  man  who  is  in  a  post  of  direction ; 
and  1  remember  to  have  heard  an  old  gentleman 
talk  of  the  civil  wars,  and  in  his  relation  give  an  ac- 
count of  a  general  officer,  who  with  this  one  quality, 
without  any  shining  endowments,  became  so  popu- 
larly beloved  and  honoured,  that  all  decisions  be- 
tween man  and  man  were  laid  before  him  by  the 
parties  concerned,  in  a  private  way  ;  and  they  would 
lay  by  their  animosities  implicitly,  if  he  bid  them  be 
friends,  or  submit  themselves  in  the  wrong  without 
reluctance,  if  he  said  it,  without  waiting  tlie  judg- 
ment of  court-martials.  His  manner  was  to  keep 
the  dates  of  all  commissions  in  his  closet,  and 
wholly  dismiss  from  the  service  such  who  were  de- 
ficient in  their  duty ;  and  after  tliat  took  care  to  pre- 
fer according  to  the  order  of  battle.  His  familiars 
were  liis  entire  friends,  and  could  have  no  interested 
views  in  courting  his  acquaintance ;  for  his  affection 


NO.   497.  SPECTATOR.  145 

was  no  step  to  theii'  preferment,  though  it  was  to 
their  reputation.  By  this  means  a  kind  aspect,  a 
salutation,  a  smile,  and  giving  out  his  hand,  had  the 
weight  of  what  is  esteemed  by  vulgar  minds  more 
substantial.  His  business  was  very  short ;  and  he 
who  had  nothing  to  do  but  justice,  was  never  af- 
fronted with  a  request  of  a  familiar  daily  visitant 
for  what  was  due  to  a  brave  man  at  a  distance. 
Extraordinary  merit  he  used  to  recommend  to  the 
king  for  some  distinction  at  home,  till  the  order  of 
battle  made  way  for  his  rising  in  the  troops.  Add 
to  this,  that  he  had  an  excellent  manner  of  getting 
rid  of  such  who  he  observed  were  good  at  a  halt, 
as  his  phrase  was.  Under  this  description,  he  com- 
prehended all  those  who  were  contented  to  live 
without  reproach,  and  had  no  promptitude  in  their 
minds  towards  glory.  These  fellows  were  also  re- 
commended to  the  king,  and  taken  off  of  the  gene- 
ral's hands  into  posts  wherein  diligence  and  common 
honesty  were  all  that  were  necessary.  This  general 
had  no  weak  part  in  his  line,  but  every  man  had  as 
much  care  upon  him,  and  as  much  honour  to  lose,  as 
himself.  Every  officer  could  answer  for  what  passed 
where  he  was  ;  and  the  general's  presence  was  never 
necessary  anywhere,  but  where  he  had  placed  him- 
self at  the  first  disposition,  except  that  accident 
happened  from  extraordinary  effiarts  of  the  enemy 
which  he  could  not  foresee  ;  but  it  was  remarkable 
that  it  never  fell  out  from  failure  in  his  own  troops. 
It  must  be  confessed  the  world  is  just  so  much  out 
of  order,  as  an  unworthy  person  possesses  what 
should  be  in  the  direction  of  him  who  has  better 
pretensions  to  it. 

Instead  of  such  a  conduct  as  this  old  fellow  used 
to  describe  in  his  general,  all  the  evils  which  have 
ever  happened  among  mankind  have  arose  from  the 

VOL.    XI.  10 


146  SPECTATOR.  NO.    497. 

wanton  disposition  of  the  favours  of  the  powerful. 
It  is  generally  all  that  men  of  modesty  and  virtue 
can  do,  to  fall  in  with  some  wliimsical  turn  in  a  great 
man,  to  make  way  for  things  of  real  and  absolute 
service.  In  the  time  of  Don  Sebastian  of  Portugal, 
or  some  time  since,  the  first  minister  would  let  no- 
thing come  near  him  but  what  bore  the  most  pro- 
found face  of  wisdom  and  gravity.  They  carried 
it  so  far,  that  for  the  greater  show  of  their  protbund 
knowledge,  a  pair  of  sj)ectacles  tied  on  their  noses, 
with  a  black  riband  round  their  heads,  was  what 
completed  the  dress  of  those  who  made  their  court 
at  his  levee,  and  none  with  naked  noses  were  ad- 
mitted to  his  presence.  A  blunt  honest  fellow,  who 
had  a  command  in  the  train  of  artillery,  had  at- 
tempted to  make  an  impression  upon  the  porter, 
day  after  day  in  vain,  till  at  length  he  made  his  ap- 
pearance in  a  very  thoughtful  dark  suit  of  clothes, 
and  two  pair  of  spectacles  on  at  once.  He  was 
conducted  from  room  to  room,  with  great  deference, 
to  the  minister;  and,  carrying  on  the  farce  of  the 
place,  he  told  his  excellency  that  he  had  pretended 
in  this  manner  to  be  wiser  than  he  really  was,  but 
with  no  ill  intention  ;  but  he  was  honest  Such-a-one 
of  the  train,  and  he  came  to  tell  him  that  they  wanted 
wheelbarrows  and  pick-axes.  The  thing  happened 
not  to  displease,  the  great  man  was  seen  to  smile, 
and  the  successful  officer  was  reconducted  with  the 
same  profound  ceremony  out  of  the  house. 

When  Leo  X.  reigned  Pope  of  Rome,  his  holiness, 
though  a  man  of  sense,  and  of  an  excellent  taste 
of  letters,  of  all  things  affected  fools,  buffoons,  hu- 
mourists, and  coxcombs.  Whether  it  were  from 
vanity,  and  that  he  enjoyed  no  talents  in  other  men 
but  wliat  were  inferior  to  him,  or  whatever  it  was, 
he  carried   it  so   far,  that  his  whole  delight  was  in 


NO.   497.  SPECTATOR.  147 

finding  out  new  fools,  and,  as  oui'  phrase  is,  playin" 
them  off,  and  making  them  show  themselves  to  ad- 
vantage. A  priest  of  his  former  acquaintance,  suf- 
fered a  great  many  disappointments  in  attempting 
to  find  access  to  him  in  a  regular  character,  till  at 
last  in  despair  he  retired  from  Rome,  and  returned 
in  an  equipage  so  very  fantastical,  both  as  to  the 
dress  of  himself  and  servants,  that  the  whole  court 
were  in  an  emulation  who  should  first  introduce  him 
to  his  holiness.  What  added  to  the  expectation  his 
holiness  had  of  the  pleasure  he  should  have  in  his 
follies,  was,  that  this  fellow,  in  a  dress  the  most  ex- 
quisitely ridiculous,  desired  he  might  speak  to  him 
alone,  for  he  had  matters  of  the  highest  importance, 
upon  which  he  wanted  a  conference.  Nothing  could 
be  denied  to  a  coXcomb  of  so  great  hope  ;  but  when 
they  were  apart,  the  impostor  revealed  himself,  and 
spoke  as  follows  : 

'  Do  not  be  surprised,  most  holy  father,  at  seeing, 
instead  of  a  coxcomb  to  laugh  at,  your  old  friend, 
who  has  taken  this  way  of  access  to  admonish  you 
of  your  own  folly.  Can  any  thing  show  your  holi- 
ness how  unworthily  you  treat  mankind,  more  than 
my  being  put  upon  this  difficulty  to  speak  with  you  ? 
It  is  a  degree  of  folly  to  delight  to  see  it  in  others, 
and  it  is  the  greatest  insolence  imaginable  to  rejoice 
in  the  disgrace  of  human  nature.  It  is  a  criminal 
humility  in  a  person  of  your  holiness's  understand- 
ing, to  believe  you  cannot  excel  but  in  the  conver- 
sation of  half-wits,  humourists,  coxcombs,  and  buf- 
foons. If  your  holiness  has  a  mind  to  be  diverted 
like  a  rational  man,  you  have  a  great  opportunity 
■for  it,  in  disrobing  all  the  impertinents  you  have 
favoured  of  all  their  riches  and  trappings  at  once, 
and  bestowing  them  on   the  humble,  the  virtuous, 


148  SPF.CTATOU.  NO.    497. 

and  the  mecK.  If  your  holiness  is  not  concerned 
for  the  sake  of  virtue  and  religion,  be  pleased  to  re- 
flect that,  for  the  sake  of  your  own  safety,  it  is  not 
proper  to  be  so  very  much  in  jest.  When  the  pope 
is  thus  merry,  the  people  will  in  time  begin  to  think 
many  things,  which  they  have  hitherto  beheld  with 
great  veneration,  are  in  themselves  objects  of  scorn 
and  derision.  If  they  once  get  a  trick  of  knowing 
how  to  laugh,  your  holiness's  saying  this  sentence 
in  one  night-cap,  and  the  other  with  the  other,  the 
change  of  your  slippers,  bringing  you  your  staff  in 
the  midst  of  a  prayer,  then  stripping  you  of  one 
vest,  and  clapping  on  a  second  during  divine  service, 
will  be  found  out  to  have  nothing  in  it.  Consider, 
Sir,  that  at  this  rate  a  head  will  be  reckoned  never 
the  wiser  for  being  bald,  and  the  ignorant  will  be 
apt  to  say  that  going  barefoot  does  not  at  all  help 
on  in  the  way  to  heaven.  The  red  cap  and  the  cowl 
will  fall  under  the  same  contempt ;  and  the  vulgar 
will  tell  us  to  our  faces,  that  we  shall  have  no  author- 
ity over  them  but  from  the  force  of  our  arguments 
and  the  sanctity  of  our  lives.' 

T 


NO.   498.  SPECTATOR.  149 


No.  498.     WEDNESDAY,  OCTOBER  1,  1712. 


— Frustra  retinacula  iendens, 
Fertur  equis  auriga,  neque  audit  currus  habenas. 

VIRG.    GEOKG.  i.  514. 


Nor  reins,  nor  curbs,  nor  cries  the  horses  fear, 

But  force  along  the  trembling  charioteer.         dryden. 


"  to  the  spectator-general  of  great  britain. 

"dear  dumb, 

"  In  short,  to  use  no  further  preface,  if  I  should 
tell  you  that  I  have  seen  a  hackney-coachman,  when 
he  has  come  to  set  down  his  fare,  which  has  con- 
sisted of  two  or  three  vei'y  fine  ladies,  hand  them 
out,  and  salute  every  one  of  them  with  an  air  of 
familiarity,  without  giving  the  least  offence,  you 
would  perhaps  think  me  guilty  of  a  gasconade.  But 
to  clear  myself  from  that  imputation,  and  to  explain 
this  matter  to  you,  I  assure  you  that  there  are  many 
illustrious  youths  within  this  city,  who  frequently 
recreate  themselves  by  driving  of  a  hackney-coach  ; 
but  those  whom,  above  all  others,  I  would  recom- 
mend to  you,  are  the  young  gentlemen  belonging  to 
the  inns  of  court.  We  have,  I  think,  about  a  dozen 
coachmen,  who  have  chambers  here  in  the  Temple ; 
and,  as  it  is  reasonable  to  believe  others  will  follow 
their  example,  we  may  perhaps  in  time,  if  it  shall 
be  thought  convenient,  be  drove  to  Westminster  by 
our  own  fraternity,  allowing  every  fifth   person  to 


150  SFIiCTATOK.  NO.    498. 

apply  his  moditations  this  way,  which  is  but  a  mo- 
dest computation,  as  the  humour  is  now  likely  to 
take.  It  is  to  be  hoped,  likewise,  that  there  are  in 
the  other  nurseries  of"  the  law  to  be  found  a  propor- 
tionable number  of  these  hopeful  plants,  springing 
up  to  the  everlasting  renown  of  their  native  country. 
Of  how  long  standing  this  humour  has  been,  I  know 
not.  The  lirst  time  I  had  any  particular  reason  to 
take  notice  of  it  was  about  this  time  twelvemonth, 
when,  being  upon  Ilampstcad-heath  with  some  of 
these  studious  young  men,  who  went  thither  purely 
for  the  sake  of  contemplation,  nothing  would  serve 
them  but  I  must  go  through  a  course  of  this  philo- 
sophy too;  and,  being  ever  willing  to  embellish  my- 
self with  any  commendable  qualification,  it  was  not 
long  ere  they  persuaded  me  into  the  coach-box ; 
nor  indeed  much  longer,  before  I  underwent  the 
fate  of  my  brother  Phaeton ;  for,  having  drove  about 
fifty  paces  with  pretty  good  success,  through  my 
own  natural  sagacity,  togetiier  with  the  good  in- 
structions of  my  tutors,  who,  to  give  them  their  due, 
were  on  all  hands  encouraging  and  assisting  me  in 
this  laudable  undertaking;  I  say.  Sir,  having  drove 
about  fifty  paces  with  pretty  good  success,  I  must 
needs  be  exercising  the  lash  ;  which  the  horses  re- 
sented so  ill  from  my  hands,  that  they  gave  a  sud- 
den start,  and  thereby  pitched  me  directly  upon  ray 
head,  as  I  very  well  remembered  about  half  an 
hour  afterwards  ;  which  not  only  deprived  me  of  all 
the  knowledge  I  had  gained  for  fifty  yards  before, 
but  had  like  to  have  broke  my  neck  into  the  bar- 
gain. After  such  a  severe  reprimand,  you  may 
imagine  I  was  not  very  easily  prevailed  with  to 
make  a  second  attempt;  and  indeed,  upon  mature 
deliberation,  the  whole  science  seemed,  at  least  to 
be  suriounded  with  so   many  difficulties,  that,  not- 


NO.    498.  SPECTATOR.  151 

withstanding  the  unknown  advantages  which  might 
have  accrued  to  me  thereby,  I  gave  over  all  hopes 
of  attaining  it ;  and  I  believe  had  never  thought  of 
it  more,  but  that  my  memory  has  been  lately  re- 
freshed by  seeing  some  of  those  ingenious  gentle- 
men ply  in  the  open  streets,  one  of  which  I  saw 
receive  so  suitable  a  reward  to  his  labours,  that 
though  I  know  you  are  no  friend  of  story-telling, 
yet  1  must  beg  leave  to  trouble  you  with  this  at 
large. 

"  About  a  fortnight  since,  as  I  was  diverting  my- 
self with  a  pennyworth  of  walnuts  at  the  Temple 
gate,  a  lively  young  fellow  in  a  fustian  jacket  shot 
by  me,  beckoned  a  coach,  and  told  the  coachman  he 
wanted  to  go  as  far  as  Chelsea.  They  agreed  upon 
the  price,  and  this  young  gentleman  mounts  the 
coach-box ;  the  fellow,  staring  at  him,  desired  to 
know  if  he  should  not  drive  till  they  were  out  of 
town.  '  No,  no,'  i-eplied  he.  He  was  then  going  to 
chmb  up  to  him,  but  received  another  check,  and 
was  then  ordered  to  get  into  the  coach,  or  behind  it, 
for  that  he  wanted  no  instructors  ;  '  but  be  sure,  you 
dog  you,'  says  he,  '  don't  you  bilk  me.'  The  fellow 
thereupon  surrendered  his  whip,  scratched  his  head, 
and  crept  into  the  coach.  Having  myself  occasion 
to  go  into  the  Strand  about  the  same  time,  we  start- 
ed both  together;  but  the  street  being  very  full  of 
coaches,  and  he  not  so  able  a  coachman  as  perhaps 
he  imagined  himself,  I  had  soon  got  a  little  way  be- 
fore him ;  often,  however,  having  the  curiosity  to 
cast  ray  eye  back  upon  him,  to  observe  how  he  be- 
haved himself  in  this  high  station ;  which  he  did 
with  great  composure,  till  he  came  to  the  pass, 
which  is  a  military  term  the  brothers  of  the  whip 
have  given  the  strait  at  St.  Clement's  church.  When 
he  was  arrived  near  this  place,  where  are  always 


152  SriCCTATOli.  NO.   498. 

coaches  in  waiting,  the  coachmen  began  to  suck  up 
the  muscles  of  their  cheeks,  and  to  tip  the  wink 
upon  each  other,  as  if  they  had  some  roguery  in 
their  lieads,  which  I  was  immediately  convinced  of; 
for  he  no  sooner  came  witliin  reach,  but  the  first  of 
tliem  witii  his  whip  took  tlie  exact  dimension  of  his 
shoulders,  which  he  very  ingeniously  called  indors- 
ing;  and  indeed,  1  must  say,  that  everyone  of  thera 
took  due  care  to  indorse  him  as  he  came  through 
their  hands.  He  seemed  at  first  a  little  uneasy  un- 
der the  operation,  and  was  going  in  all  haste  to  take 
the  numbers  of  their  coaches;  but  at  length,  by  the 
mediation  of  the  worthy  gentleman  in  the  coach, 
his  wrath  was  assuaged,  and  he  prevailed  upon  to 
pursue  his  journey  ;  though,  indeed,  I  thought  they 
had  clapped  such  a  spoke  in  his  wheel,  as  had  dis- 
abled him  from  being  a  coachman  for  that  day  at 
least ;  for  I  am  only  mistaken,  Mr.  Spec,  if  some  of 
these  indorsements  were  not  wrote  with  so  strong 
a  hand  that  they  are  still  legible.  Upon  my  in- 
quiring the  reason  of  this  unusual  salutation,  they 
told  me,  that  it  was  a  custom  among  them,  when- 
ever they  saw  a  brother  tottering  or  unstable  in  his 
post,  to  lend  him  a  hand,  in  order  to  settle  him 
again  therein.  For  my  part,  I  thought  their  alle- 
gations but  reasonable,  and  so  marched  off.  Be- 
sides our  coachmen,  we  do  abound  in  divers  other 
sorts  of  ingenious  robust  youth,  wlio,  I  hope,  will 
not  take  it  ill  if  I  defer  giving  you  an  account  of 
their  several  recreations  to  another  opportunity.  In 
ihe  mean  time,  if  you  would  but  bestow  a  little  of 
your  wholesome  advice  upon  our  coachmen,  it  might 
perhaps  be  a  reprieve  to  some  of  their  necks.  As 
I  understand  you  have  several  inspectors  under 
you,  if  you  would  but  send  one  amongst  us  here  in 
the  Temple,  I  am  persuaded  he  would  not  want  em- 


NO.    499.  SPECTATOR.  153 

ployment.     But  I  leave  this  to  your  own  consider- 
ation, and  am,  Sir, 

"  Your  humble  servant, 

"Moses  Greenbag. 

"P.  S.     I  have  heard  our  critics  in  the  coffee- 
houses hereabout  talk  mightily  of  the  unity  of  time 
and  place.     According  to  my  notion  of  the  matter, 
I  have  endeavoured  at  something  Hke  it  in  the  be- 
ginning of  my  epistle.     I  desire  to  be  informed  a 
little  as  to  that  particular.     In  my  next,  I  design  to 
give  you  some  account  of  excellent  watermen,  who 
are  bred  to  the  law,  and  far  outdo  the  land  students 
above  mentioned." 
"  From  the  further  end  of  the  Widow's  Coffee- 
house in  Devereux-court,  Monday  evening, 
twenty-eight  minutes  and  a  half  past  six." 

T 


No.  499.     THURSDAY,  OCTOBER  2,  1712. 


— Nimis  uncis 
NarUnis  indulges. —  pees.  sat.  i.  40. 

— You  drive  the  jest  too  far.  dryden. 

My  friend  Will  Honeycomb  has  told  me,  for 
about  this  half  year,  that  he  had  a  great  mind  to 
try  his  hand  at  a  Spectator,  and  that  he  would  fain 
have  one  of  his  writing  in  my  works.  This  morn- 
ing I  received  from  him  the  following  letter,  which. 


154  SPKCTATOK.  NO.    499. 

after  having  rectified  rtome  little  orthographical  mis- 
takes, I  shall  make  a  present  of  to  the  public. 


"  DEAR    SPEC, 

"  I  was  about  two  nights  ago  in  company  with 
very  agreeable  young  people  of  both  sexes,  where, 
talking  of  some  of  your  papers  which  are  written 
on  conjugal  love,  there  arose  a  dispute  among  us, 
whetlier  there  were  not  more  bad  husbands  in  the 
world  than  bad  wives.  A  gentleman,  who  was  ad- 
vocate for  the  ladies,  took  this  occasion  to  tell  us 
the  story  of  a  famous  siege  in  Germany,  which  I 
have  since  found  related  in  my  historical  dictionary, 
after  the  following  manner.  When  the  emperor 
Conrade  the  Third  had  besieged  Guelphus,  Duke 
of  Bavaria,  in  the  city  of  Hensberg,  the  women, 
finding  that  the  town  could  not  possibly  hold  out 
long,  petitioned  the  emperor  that  they  might  depart 
out  of  it,  with  so  much  as  each  of  them  could  carry. 
The  emperor,  knowing  they  could  not  convey  away 
many  of  their  effects,  granted  them  their  petition ; 
when  the  women,  to  his  great  surprise,  came  out  of 
the  place  with  every  one  her  husband  upon  her 
back.  The  emperor  was  so  moved  at  the  sight, 
that  he  burst  into  tears  ;  and,  after  having  very 
much  extolled  the  wonien  for  their  conjugal  affec- 
tion, gave  the  men  to  their  wives,  and  i^eceived  the 
duke  into  his  favour. 

"The  ladies  did  not  a  little  triumph  at  this  story, 
asking  us  at  the  same  time,  whether  in  our  con- 
sciences we  believed  that  the  men  of  any  town  of 
Great  Britain  would,  upon  the  same  offer,  and  at 
the  same  conjuncture,  have  loaden  themselves  with 
their  wives ;  or  rather,  whether  they  would  not 
have  been  glad  of  such  an  opportunity  to  get  rid  of 


NO.    499.  SPECTATOR.  155^ 

them?  To  this,  my  very  good  friend,  Tom  Dap- 
perwit,  who  took  upon  him  to  be  tiie  mouth  of  our 
sex,  repUed,  that  they  would  be  very  much  to  blame 
if  they  would  not  do  the  same  good  office  for  the 
women,  considering  that  their  strength  would  be 
greater,  and  their  burdens  lighter.  As  we  were 
amusing  ourselves  with  discourses  of  this  nature,  in 
order  to  pass  away  the  evening,  which  now  begins 
to  grow  tedious,  we  fell  into  that  laudable  and  pri- 
mitive diversion  of  questions  and  commands.  I  was 
no  sooner  vested  with  the  regal  autliority,  but  I 
enjoined  all  the  ladies,  under  pain  of  my  displea- 
sure, to  tell  the  company  ingenuously,  in  case  they 
had  been  in  the  siege  above  mentioned,  and  had  the 
same  offers  made  them  as  the  good  women  of  that 
place,  what  every  one  of  them  would  have  brought 
off  with  her,  and  have  thought  most  worth  the 
saving  ?  There  were  several  merry  answers  made 
to  my  question,  which  entertained  us  till  bedtime. 
This  filled  my  mind  with  such  a  huddle  of  ideas, 
that,  upon  my  going  to  sleep,  I  fell  into  the  fol- 
lowing dream : 

"  I  saw  a  town  of  this  island,  which  shall  be 
nameless,  invested  on  every  side,  and  the  inhabit- 
ants of  it  so  straitened  as  to  cry  for  quarter.  The 
general  refused  any  other  terms  than  those  granted 
to  the  above-mentioned  town  of  Hensberg,  namely, 
that  the  married  women  might  come  out  with  what 
they  could  bring  along  with  them.  Immediately  the 
city  gates  flew  open,  and  a  female  procession  ap- 
peared, multitudes  of  the  sex  following  one  another 
in  a  row,  and  staggering  under  their  respective  bur- 
dens. I  took  my  stand  upon  an  eminence  in  the 
enemy's  camp,  which  was  appointed  for  the  general 
rendezvous  of  these  female  carriers,  being  very  de- 
sirous to  look  into  their  several  ladings.     The  first 


156  SFliCTATOK.  NO.    499. 

of  them  had  a  huge  sack  ii[)on  her  fhoulders,  which 
she  set  down  witli  great  care.  Upon  the  opening 
of  it,  wlien  I  expected  to  have  seen  iier  husband 
shot  out  of  it,  I  found  it  was  tilled  with  china-ware. 
The  next  appeared  in  a  more  decent  figure,  carrying 
a  handsome  young  fellow  upon  her  back  ;  I  could 
not  forbear  commending  the  young  woman  for  her 
conjugal  affection,  when,  to  my  great  surprise,  I 
found  that  she  had  left  the  good  man  at  home,  and 
brought  away  her  gallant.  1  saw  the  third,  ati  some 
distance,  with  a  little  withered  face  peeping  over 
her  shoulder,  whom  I  could  not  suspect  for  any  but 
her  spouse,  till  upon  her  setting  him  down  I  heard 
her  call  him  dear  pug,  and  found  him  to  be  her  fa- 
vourite monkey.  A  fourth  brought  a  huge  bale  of 
cards  along  with  her  ;  and  the  fifth  a  Bolonia  lap- 
dog  ;  for  her  husband,  it  seems,  being  a  very  burly 
man,  she  thought  it  would  be  less  trouble  for  her  to 
bring  away  little  Cupid.  The  next  was  the  wife 
of  a  rich  usurer,  loaden  with  a  bag  of  gold  ;  she  told 
us  that  her  spouse  was  very  old,  and  by  the  course 
of  nature  could  not  expect  to  live  long  ;  and  that  to 
show  her  tender  regards  for  him,  she  had  saved  that 
which  the  poor  man  loved  better  than  his  life.  The 
next  came  towards  us  with  her  son  upon  her  back, 
who,  we  were  told,  was  the  greatest  rake  in  the 
place,  but  so  much  the  mother's  dai'ling,  that  she 
left  her  husband  behind  with  a  large  family  of 
hopeful  sons  and  daughters,  for  the  sake  of  this 
graceless  youth. 

"It  would  be  endless  to  mention  the  several  per- 
sons, with  their  several  loads,  that  appeared  to  me 
in  this  strange  vision.  All  the  place  about  me  was 
covered  with  packs  of  ribands,  brocades,  embroi- 
dery, and  ten  thousand  other  materials,  sufficient  to 
have  furnished  a  whole  street  of  toy-shops.     One 


NO.    499.  SPECTATOR.  157 

of  the  women,  having  a  husband,  who  was  none  of 
the  heaviest,  was  bringing  him  off  upon  her  shoul- 
ders, at  the  same  time  that  she  carried  a  great 
bundle  of  Flanders  lace  under  her  arm ;  but  finding 
herself  so  overloaden,  that  she  could  not  save  both 
of  them,  she  dropped  the  good  man,  and  brought 
away  the  bundle.  In  short,  I  found  but  one  hus- 
band among  this  great  mountain  of  baggage,  who 
was  a  lively  cobbler,  that  kicked  and  spurred  all  the 
while  his  wife  was  carrying  him  on,  and,  as  it  was 
said,  he  had  scarce  passed  a  day  in  his  life  without 
giving  her  the  discipUne  of  the  strap. 

"  I  cannot  conclude  my  letter,  dear  Spec,  without 
telling  thee  one  very  odd  whim  in  this  my  dream. 
I  saw,  methought,  a  dozen  women  employed  in 
bringing  off  one 'man;  I  could  not  guess  who  it 
should  be,  till  upon  his  nearer  approach  I  discover- 
ed thy  short  phiz.  The  women  all  declared  that  it 
was  for  the  sake  of  thy  works,  and  not  thy  person, 
that  they  brought  thee  off,  and  that  it  was  on  condi- 
tion that  thou  shouldst  continue  the  Spectator.  If 
thou  thinkest  this  dream  will  make  a  tolerable  one, 
it  is  at  thy  service,  from,  ''  Dear  Spec, 

"  Thine,  sleeping  and  waking, 

"  Will  Honeycomb." 

The  ladies  will  see  by  this  letter  what  I  have 
often  told  them,  that  Will  is  one  of  those  old- 
fashioned  men  of  wit  and  pleasure  of  the  town,  that 
shows  his  parts  by  raillery  on  marriage,  and  one 
who  has  often  tried  his  fortune  that  way  without 
success.  I  cannot,  however,  dismiss  this  letter,  with- 
out observing,  that  the  true  story  on  which  it  is 
built  does  honour  to  the  sex,  and  that,  in  order  to 
abuse  them,  the  writer  is  obliged  to  have  recourse 
to  dream  and  fiction. 

o 


158  SFIXTATOK.  NO.   500. 


No.  500.     FRIDAY,  OCTOBER  3,  1712. 


— Hue  natas  adjice  septem, 
Et  totidem  juvenes  ;  el  mox  generosqut  nurusque. 
Queerile  nunc  habeat  quam  nostra  superbia  causam. 

OVII).  MET.  vi.  182. 

Seven  are  my  daughters  of  a  form  divine, 

With  seven  lair  sons,  an  indefective  line. 

Go,  fools,  consider  this,  and  ask  the  cause. 

From  which  my  pride  its  strong  presumption  draws. 

CROXAL. 
"  SIR, 

"  You,  who  are  so  well  acquainted  with  the  story 
of  Socrates,  must  have  read  how,  upon  his  making 
a  discourse  concerning  love,  he  pressed  his  point 
with  so  much  success,  that  all  the  bachelors  in  his 
audience  took  a  resolution  to  marr}"^  by  the  first  op- 
portunity, and  that  all  the  married  men  inmiediately 
took  horse  and  galloi)ed  home  to  their  wives.  I 
am  apt  to  think  your  discourses,  in  wliicli  you  have 
drawn  so  many  agreeable  pictures  of  marriage, 
have  had  a  very  good  effect  this  way  in  England. 
We  are  obliged  to  you,  at  least,  for  having  taken  off 
that  senseless  ridicule,  which  for  many  years  the 
witlings  of  the  town  have  turned  upon  their  fathers 
and  mothers.  For  my  own  part,  I  was  born  in 
wedlock,  and  I  do  not  care  who  knows  it ;  for  which 
reason,  among  many  others,  I  should  look  upon  my- 
self as  a  most  insuffei'able  coxcomb,  did  I  endeavour 
to. maintain  that  cuckoldom  was  inseparable  from 
marriage,  or  to  make  use  of  husband  and  wife  as 


NO.    500.  SPECTATOR.  169 

terms  of  reproach.  Nay,  Sir,  I  will  go  one  step 
further,  and  declare  to  you  before  the  whole  world, 
that  I  am  a  married  man,  and  at  the  same  time  I 
have  so  much  assurance  as  not  be  ashamed  of  what 
I  have  done. 

"  Among  the  several  pleasures  that  accompany 
this  state  of  life,  and  which  you  have  described  in 
your  former  papers,  there  are  two  you  have  not 
taken  notice  oi',  and  which  are  seldom  cast  into  the 
account  by  those  who  write  on  this  subject.  You 
must  have  observed,  in  your  speculations  on  human 
nature,  that  nothing  is  more  gratifying  to  the  mind 
of  man  than  power  or  dominion  ;  and  this  I  think 
myself  amply  possessed  of,  as  I  am  the  father  of  a 
family.  I  am  perpetually  taken  up  in  giving  out 
orders,  in  prescribing  duties,  in  hearing  parties,  in 
administering  justice,  and  in  distributing  rewards 
and  punishments.  To  speak  in  the  language  of  the 
centurion,  I  say  unto  one.  Go,  and  he  goeth ;  and 
to  another,  Come,  and  he  cometh  ;  and  to  my  ser- 
vant, Do  this,  and  he  doeth  it.  In  short.  Sir,  I  look 
upon  my  family  as  a  patriarchal  sovereignty,  in 
which  I  am  myself  both  king  and  priest.  All  great 
governments  are  nothing  else  but  clusters  of  these 
little  private  royalties,  and  therefore  I  consider  the 
masters  of  families  as  small  deputy-governors  pre- 
siding over  the  several  little  parcels  and  divisions  of 
their  fellow-subjects.  As  I  take  great  pleasure  in 
the  administration  of  my  government  in  particular, 
so  I  look  upon  myself  not  only  as  a  more  useful, 
but  as  a  much  greater  and  happier  man  than  any 
bachelor  in  England  of  my  own  rank  and  condition. 

"  There  is  another  accidental  advantage  in  mar- 
riage, which  has  likewise  fallen  to  my  share ;  I 
mean  the  having  a  multitude  of  children.  These  I 
cannot  but  regard  as  very  great  blessings.    When  I 


160  SPECTATOR.  NO.   600. 

see  my  little  troop  before  nie,  I  rejoice  in  the  ad- 
ditions which  I  have  made  to  my  .species,  to  my 
country,  and  to  my  religion,  in  having  produced 
such  a  number  of  reasonable  creatures,  citizens,  and 
Christians.  I  am  pleased  to  see  myself  thus  per- 
petuated ;  and  as  there  is  no  production  comparable 
to  that  of  a  human  creature,  I  am  more  proud  of 
having  been  the  occasion  of  ten  such  glorious  pro- 
ductions, than  if  I  had  built  a  hundred  pyramids  at 
my  own  expense,  or  published  as  many  volumes  of 
the  finest  wit  and  learning.  In  what  a  beautiful 
light  has  the  holy  scripture  represented  Abdon,  one 
of  the  judges  of  Israel,  who  had  forty  sons  and 
thirty  grandsons,  that  rode  on  threescore  and  ten 
ass-colts,  according  to  the  magnificence  of  the  eastern 
countries?  How  must  the  heart  of  the  old  man  re- 
joice, when  he  saw  such  a  beautiful  procession  of 
his  own  descendants,  such  a  numerous  cavalcade  of 
his  own  raising !  For  my  own  part,  I  can  sit  in  my 
parlour  witli  great  content  when  I  take  a  review  of 
half  a  dozen  of  my  little  boys  mounting  upon  their 
hobb}'-horses,  and  of  as  many  little  girls  tutoring 
their  babies,  each  of  them  endeavouring  to  excel 
the  rest,  and  to  do  something  tliat  may  gain  my  fa- 
vour and  approbation.  I  cannot  question  but  He 
who  has  blessed  me  with  so  many  children,  will 
assist  my  endeavours  in  providing  for  them.  There 
is  one  thing  I  am  able  to  give  each  of  them,  which 
is  a  virtuous  education.  I  think  it  is  Sir  Francis 
Bacon's  observation,  that  in  a  numerous  family  of 
children,  the  eldest  is  often  spoiled  by  the  prospect 
of  an  estate,  and  the  youngest  by  being  the  darling 
of  the  parent ;  but  that  some  one  or  other  in  the 
middle,  who  has  not  periiaps  been  regarded,  has 
made  his  way  in  the  world,  and  over-topped  the 
rest.     It  is  my  business  to  implant  in  every  one  of 


NO.   500.  SPECTATOR.  161 

my  children  the  same  seeds  of  industry,  and  the 
same  honest  principles.  By  this  means,  I  think  I 
have  a  fair  chance  that  one  or  other  of  them  may 
grow  considerable  in  some  or  other  way  of  life, 
whether  it  be  in  the  array,  or  in  the  fleet,  in  trade, 
or  any  of  the  thi-ee  learned  professions ;  for  you 
must  know,  Sir,  that,  from  long  experience  and  ob- 
servation, I  am  persuaded  of  what  seems  a  paradox 
to  most  of  those  with  whom  I  converse,  namely,  that 
a  man  who  has  many  children,  and  gives  them  a 
good  education,  is  more  likely  to  raise  a  family,  than 
he  who  has  but  one,  notwithstanding  he  leaves  him 
his  whole  estate.  For  this  reason  I  cannot  forbear 
amusing  myself  with  finding  out  a  general,  an  ad- 
miral, or  an  alderman  of  London,  a  divine,  a  physi- 
cian, or  a  lawyer,  among  my  little  people  who  are 
now  perhaps  in  petticoats ;  and  when  I  see  the  mo- 
therly airs  of  my  little  daughters  when  they  are 
playing  with  their  puppets,  I  cannot  but  flatter 
myself  that  their  husbands  and  children  will  be 
happy  in  the  possession  of  such  wives  and  mothers. 
"If  you  are  a  father,  you  will  not  perhaps  think 
this  letter  impertinent ;  but  if  you  ai-e  a  single  man, 
you  will  not  know  the  meaning  of  it,  and  probably 
throw  it  into  the  fire.  ^  Whatever  you  determine  of 
it,  you  may  assure  yourself  that  it  comes  from  one 
who  is 

"  Your  most  humble  servant, 

"  and  well-wisher, 

"  Philogamus." 


VOL.    XI. 


11 


162  SPECTATOK.  NO.   601. 


No.  501.     SATURDAY,  OCTOBER  4,  1712. 


Diti-um.    Sed  lavius  Jit  pntientia 

Quicqiiid  corriyere  est  nefas.  hor.  CAK.  i.  24.  19. 

'Tis  hard:  but  when  we  needs  must  bear, 

Enduring  patience  makes  the  burden  liglit.       CREECH. 

As  some  of  the  finest  compositions  among  the 
ancients  are  in  allegory,  I  have  endeavoured,  in 
several  of  ray  jiapers,  to  revive  that  way  of  writing, 
and  hope  I  have  not  been  altogether  unsuccessful  in 
it ;  for  I  find  there  is  always  a  great  demand  for 
those  jjarlicular  papers,  and  cannot  but  observe  that 
several  authors  have  endeavoured  of  late  to  excel 
in  works  of  this  nature.  Among  these,  I  do  not 
know  any  one  who  has  succeeded  better  than  a  very 
ingenious  gentleman,  to  whom  I  am  obliged  for  the 
following  i)iece,  and  who  was  the  author  of  the  vi- 
sion in  the  -iGOth  paper. 

o 

"  How  are  we  tortured  with  the  absence  of  what 
we  covet  to  possess,  when  it  appears  to  be  lost  to 
us!  What  excursions  does  the  soul  make  in  ima- 
f^ination  after  it ;  and  how  does  it  turn  into  itself 
a^ain,  more  foolishly  fond  and  dejected  at  the  dis- 
appointment !  Our  grief,  instead  of  having  recourse 
to  reason,  which  might  restrain  it,  searches  to  find 
a  further  nourishment.  It  calls  upon  memory  to 
relate  the  several  passages  and  circumstances  of  sat- 
isfaction which  we  formerly  enjoyed  ;   the  pleasures 


NO.    501.  SPECTATOR.  163 

we  purchased  by  those  riches  that  are  taken  from 
us  ;  or  the  power  and  splendor  of  our  departed  ho- 
nours ;  or  the  voice,  the  words,  the  looks,  the  tem- 
per, and  affections  of  our  friends  that  are  deceased. 
It  needs  must  happen  from  hence  that  the  passion 
should  often  swell  to  such  a  size  as  to  burst  the 
heart  which  contains  it,  if  time  did  not  make  these 
circumstances  less  strong  and  lively,  so  that  reason 
should  become  a  more  equal  match  for  the  passion, 
or  if  another  desire  which  becomes  more  present 
did  not  overpower  them  with  a  livelier  representa- 
tion. These  are  thougiits  which  I  hart  when  I  fell 
into  a  kind  of  vision  upon  this  subject,  and  may 
therefore  stand  for  a  proper  introduction  to  a  rela- 
tion of  it. 

"  I  found  myself  upon  a  naked  shore,  with  company 
whose  afflicted  countenances  witnessed  their  condi- 
tions. Befoi-e  us  flowed  a  water,  deep,  silent,  and 
called  the  River  of  Tears,  which,  issuing  from  two 
fountains  on  an  upper  ground,  encompassed  an  is- 
land that  lay  before  us.  The  boat  which  plied  in 
it  was  old  and  shattered,  having  been  sometimes 
overset  by  the  impatience  and  haste  of  single  pas- 
sengers to  arrive  at  the  other  side.  This  imme- 
diately was  brought  to  us  by  Misfortune,  who  steers 
it,  and  we  were  all  preparing  to  take  our  places, 
when  there  appeared  a  woman  of  a  mild  and  com- 
posed behavioui-,  who  began  to  deter  us  from  it,  by 
representing  the  dangers  which  would  attend  our 
voyage.  Hereupon,  some  who  knew  her  for  Pa- 
tience, and  some  of  those  too  who  till  then  cried  the 
loudest,  were  persuaded  by  her,  and  returned  back. 
The  rest  of  us  went  in,  and  she,  whose  good-nature 
would  not  suffer  her  to  forsake  persons  in  trouble, 
desired  leave  to  accom[)any  us,  that  she  might  at 
least  administer  some  small  comfort  or  advice  while 


164:  SPECTATOR.  NO.    501. 

we  sailed.  We  were  no  jiooiier  embarked  hut  the 
boat  was  pushed  oil",  the  sheet  was  s|)read ;  and 
being  filled  with  sighs,  nhieh  are  the  winds  of  that 
country,  we  made  a  passage  to  the  further  bank, 
through  several  difficulties  of  which  the  most  of  us 
seemed  utterly  regardless. 

*'  When  we  landed,  we  perceived  the  island  to  be 
strangely  overcast  with  fogs,  which  no  brightness 
could  pierce,  so  that  a  kind  of  gloomy  horror  sat 
always  brooding  over  it.  This  had  something  in  it 
very  shocking  to  easy  tempers,  insomuch  that  some 
others,  whom  Patience  had  by  this  time  gained  over, 
left  us  here,  and  privily  conveyed  themselves  round 
the  verge  of  the  island  to  find  a  ford  by  which  she 
told  them  they  might  escape. 

'•  For  my  part,  I  still  went  along  with  those  who 
were  for  ])iercing  into  the  centre  of  the  place ;  and 
joining  ourselves  to  others  whom  we  found  upon  the 
same  journey,  we  marched  solenndy  as  at  a  funeral, 
through  boi'dering  hedges  of  rosemary,  and  through 
a  grove  of  yew-trees,  which  love  to  overshadow 
tombs  and  flourish  in  churchyards.  Here  we  heard 
on  every  side  the  wailings  and  complaints  of  several 
of  the  inhabitants,  who  liad  cast  themselves  discon- 
solately at  the  feet  of  trees ;  and  as  we  chanced  to 
approach  any  of  these,  we  might  perceive  them 
wringing  their  hands,  beating  their  breasts,  tearing 
their  hair,  or  after  some  other  manner  visibly  agi- 
tated with  vexation.  Our  sorrows  were  heightened 
by  the  influence  of  what  we  heard  and  saw,  and  one 
of  our  number  was  wrought  up  to  such  a  pitch  of 
wildness,  jis  to  talk  of  hanging  himself  upon  a 
bough  which  shot  tem|)tingly  across  the  path  we 
travelled  in  ;  but  he  was  restrained  from  it  by 
the  kind  endeavours  of  our  above-mentioned  com- 
panion. 


NO.   501.  SPECTATOR.  165 

"  We  had  now  gotten  into  the  most  dusky,  silent 
part  of  the  island,  and  by  the  redoubled  sounds  of 
sighs,  which  made  a  doleful  whistling  in  the  branches, 
the  thickness  of  air,  which  occasioned  faintish  re- 
spiration, and  the  violent  throbbings  of  heart  which 
more  and  more  affected  us,  we  found  that  we  ap- 
proaclied  the  Grotto  of  Grief.  It  was  a  wide,  hol- 
low, and  melancholy  cave,  sunk  deep  in  a  dale,  and 
watered  by  rivulets  that  had  a  colour  between  red 
and  black.  These  crept  slow  and  half  congealed 
amongst  its  windings,  and  mixed  their  heavy  mur- 
mur with  the  echo  of  groans  that  rolled  through  all 
the  passages.  In  the  most  retired  part  of  it  sat  the 
doleful  being  herself ;  the  path  to  her  was  strewed 
with  goads,  stings,  and  thorns ;  and  her  throne  on 
which  she  sat  was  broken  into  a  rock,  with  ragged 
pieces  pointing  upwards  for  her  to  lean  upon.  A 
heavy  mist  hung  above  her ;  her  head  oppressed 
with  it  reclined  upon  her  ai'm.  Thus  did  she  reign 
over  her  disconsolate  subjects,  full  of  herself  to  stu- 
pidity, in  eternal  pensiveness,  and  the  profoundest 
silence.  On  one  side  of-  her  stood  Dejection  just 
dropping  into  a  swoon,  and  Paleness  wasting  to  a 
skeleton  ;  on  the  other  side  were  Care  inw^ardly  tor- 
mented with  imaginations,  and  Anguish  suffering 
outward  troubles  to  suck  the  blood  from  her  heart 
in  the  shape  of  vultures.  The  whole  vault  had  a 
genuine  dismalness  in  it,  which  a  few  scattered 
lamps,  whose  bluish  Hames  arose  and  sunk  in  their 
urns,  discovered  to  our  eyes  with  increase.  Some 
of  us  fell  down,  overcome  and  spent  with  what  they 
suffered  in  the  way,  and  were  given  over  to  those 
tormentors  that  stood  on  either  hand  of  the  presence  ; 
others,  galled  and  mortified  with  pain,  recovered  the 
entrance,  where  Patience,  whom  we  had  left  behind, 
was  still  waiting  to  receive  us. 


1G6  SPECTATOR.  NO.   501. 

"•  Witli  lier,  whose  company  was  now  become  more 
grateful  to  lis  by  the  want  we  had  found  of  her,  we 
winded  round  the  grotto,  and  ascended  at  the  back 
of  it,  out  of  the  mournful  dale  in  whose  bottom  it 
lay.  On  this  eminence  we  halted,  by  her  advice, 
to  pant  for  breath;  and  lifting  our  eyes,  which  till 
then  were  fixed  downwards,  felt  a  sullen  sort  of  sat- 
isfaction, in  observing  through  the  shades  what 
numbers  had  entered  the  island.  This  satisfaction, 
which  appears  to  have  ill-nature  in  it,  was  excus- 
able, because  it  happened  at  a  time  when  we  were 
too  much  taken  up  with  our  own  concern,  to  have 
respect  to  that  of  others ;  and  therefore  we  did  not 
consider  them  as  suffering,  but  ourselves  as  not 
suifering  in  the  most  forlorn  estate.  It  had  also 
the  groundwork  of  humanity  and  compassion  in  it, 
though  the  mind  was  then  too  dark  and  too  deeply 
engaged  to  perceive  it;  but  as  we  proceeded  on- 
wards, it  began  to  discover  itself,  and,  from  observing 
that  others  were  unhappy,  we  came  to  question  one 
another,  when  it  was  that  we  met,  and  what  were 
the  sad  occasions  that  brought  us  together.  Then 
we  heard  our  stories,  we  compared  them,  we  mutu- 
ally gave  and  received  pity,  and  so  by  degrees  be- 
came tolerable  company. 

"  A  considerable  part  of  the  troublesome  road 
was  thus  deceived  ;  at  length  the  openings  among 
the  trees  grew  larger,  the  air  seemed  thinner,  it  lay 
with  less  oppression  upon  us,  aiid  we  could  now 
and  then  discern  tracks  in  it  of  a  lighter  grayness, 
like  the  breakings  of  day,  short  in  duration,  much 
enlivening,  and  called  in  that  country  gleams  of 
amusement.  Within  a  short  while  these  gleams 
began  to  appear  more  frequent,  and  then  brighter 
and  of  a  longer  continuance;  the  sighs  that  hitiierto 
filled  the  air  with  so  much  dolefulness,  altered  to 


NO.    501.  SPECTATOR.  167 

the  sound  of  common  breezes,  and  in  general  the 
horrors  of  the  island  were  abated. 

"  When  we  had  arrived  at  last  at  the  ford  by 
which  we  were  to  pass  out,  we  met  with  those 
fashionable  mourners  who  had  been  ferried  over 
along  with  us,  and  who,  being  unwilling  to  go  as  far 
as  we,  had  coasted  by  the  shore  to  find  the  place, 
where  they  waited  our  coming  ;  that,  by  showing 
themselves  to  the  world  only  at  the  time  when  we 
did,  they  might  seem  also  to  have  been  among  the 
troubles  of  the  grotto.  Here  the  waters,  that  rolled 
on  the  other  side  so  deep  and  silent,  were  much 
dried  up,  and  it  was  an  easier  matter  for  us  to  wade 
over. 

"  The  river  being  crossed,  we  were  received  upon 
the  further  bank,  by  our  friends  and  acquaintance, 
whom  Comfort  had  brought  out  to  congratulate  our 
appearance  in  the  world  again.  Some  of  these 
blamed  us  for  staying  so  long  away  from  them, 
others  advised  us  against  .all  temptations  of  going 
back  again  ;  every  one  was  cautious  not  to  renew 
our  trouble,  by  asking  any  particulars  of  the  jour- 
ney ;  and  all  concluded  that,  in  a  case  of  so  much 
melancholy  and  affliction,  we  could  not  have  made 
choice  of  a  fitter  companion  than  Patience.  Here 
Patience,  appearing  serene  at  her  praises,  delivered 
us  over  to  Comfort.  Comfort  smiled  at  his  receiv- 
ing the  charge  ;  immediately  the  sky  purpled  on  that 
side  to  which  he  turned,  and  double  day  at  once 
broke  in  upon  me." 


J  68  SriXTATOU.  NO.    502. 


No.  502.     MONDAY,  OCTOBER  U,  1712. 


Mtlias,  pejus,  prusU,  obsit,  nilviiknt,  nisi  quod  luhct. 

TEU.    IIEAUT.    ACT.  iv.  SC.  1.  30. 


Better  or  worse,  profitable  or  di?;idviiiit:igeous,  they  see  nothing 
but  what  they  list. 

When  men  read,  tliej  tuste  the  mutter  witli  wljieli 
they  are  entertained,  according  as  their  own  respect- 
ive studies  and  inclinations  have  prepared  them, 
and  make  their  reflections  accordingly.  Some,  pe- 
rusing Roman  writers,  would  find  in  them,  what- 
ever the  subject  of  the  discourses  were,  parts  which 
implied  the  grandeur  of  that  people  in  their  war- 
fare, or  their  politics.  As  for  ray  i)art,  who  am  a 
mere  Spectator,  I  drew  this  morning  conclusions  of 
their  eminence  in  what  I  think  great,  to  wit,  in  hav- 
ing worthy  sentiments,  from  the  reading  a  comedy 
of  Terence.  Tiie  play  was  the  Self-Tormentor.  It 
is  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  a  perfect  picture 
of  luunan  life,  but  I  did  not  observe  in  the  whole 
one  passage  that  could  raise  a  laugh.  How  well- 
disposed  must  that  people  be,  who  could  be  enter- 
tained with  satisfaction  by  so  sober  and  polite  mirth  ! 
In  the  first  scene  of  the  comedy,  when  one  of  the 
old  men  accuses  the  other  of  impertinence  for  inter- 
posing in  his  affairs,  he  answers,  '  I  am  a  man,  and 
cannot  help  feeling  any  sorrow  that  can  arrive  at 


NO.    502.  SPECTATOR.  169 

man.'  *  It  is  said  this  sentence  was  received  with  a 
universal  applause.  There  cannot  be  a  greater  ar- 
gument of"  the  general  good  understanding  of  a 
people,  than  a  sudden  consent  to  give  their  appro- 
bation of  a  sentiment  which  has  no  emotion  in  it. 
If  it  were  spoken  with  never  so  great  skill  in  the 
actor,  the  manner  of  uttering  that  sentence  could 
have  nothing  in  it  which  could  strike  any  but  people 
of  the  greatest  humanity,  nay  people  elegant  and 
skilful  in  observations  upon  it.  It  is  possible  he 
might  have  laid  his  hand  on  his  breast,  and,  with  a 
winning  insinuation  in  his  countenance,  expressed 
to  his  neighbour  that  he  was  a  man  who  made  his 
case  his  own  ;  yet  I  will  engage,  a  player  in  Covent- 
garden  might  hit  such  an  attitude  a  thousand  times 
before  he  would  have  been  regarded.  I  have  heard 
that  a  minister  of  state,  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, had  all  manner  of  books  and  ballads  brought 
to  him,  of  what  kind  soever,  and  took  great  notice 
how  much  they  took  with  the  people;  upon  which 
he  would  and  certainly  might,  very  well  judge  of 
their  present  dispositions,  and  the  most  proper  way 
of  applying  them  according  to  his  own  purposes. 
What  passes  on  the  stage,  and  the  reception  it  meets 
from  the  audience,  is  a  very  useful  instruction  of 
this  kind.  According  to  what  you  may  observe 
there  on  our  stage,  you  see  them  often  moved  so 
directly  against  all  common  sense  and  humanity, 
that  you  would  be  apt  to  pronounce  us  a  nation  of 
•  savages.  It  cannot  be  called  a  mistake  of  what  is 
pleasant,  but  the  very  contrary  to  it  is  what  most 

*  Homo  sum ;  humani  nihil  a  me  alienum  puto. 

TER.   HEAUT.   ACT.  i.  SC.  1.  25. 

I  am  a  man;  and  all  calamities, 

That  touch  humanity,  come  home  to  me.      colman. 


170  SPECTATOR.  NO.  502. 

assuredly  takes  with  them.  Tlie  other  night  an  old 
woman  carried  off  with  a  pain  in  her  side,  with  all 
the  distortions  and  anguish  of  countenance  which 
is  natural  to  one  in  that  condition,  was  laughed  and 
clapped  off  the  stage.  Terence's  comedy,  which  I 
am  speaking  of,  is  indeed  written  as  if  he  hoped  to 
please  none  but  such  as  had  as  good  a  taste  as  him- 
self. I  could  not  but  reflect  upon  the  natural  de- 
scription of  the  innocent  young  woman  made  by  the 
servant  to  his  master.  '  When  I  came  to  the  house,' 
said  lie,  *  an  old  woman  o[)ened  the  door,  and  I  fol- 
lowed her  in,  because  I  could,  by  entering  upon 
them  unawares,  better  observe  what  was  your  mis- 
tress's ordinary  manner  of  spending  her  time,  the 
only  way  of  judging  any  one's  inclinations  and  ge- 
nius. I  found  her  at  her  needle  in  a  sort  of  second 
mourning,  which  she  wore  for  an  aunt  she  had  lately 
lost.  She  had  nothing  on  but  what  showed  she 
dressed  only  for  herself.  Her  hair  hung  negligently 
about  her  shoulders.  She  had  none  of  the  arts  with 
which  others  use  to  set  themselves  off,  but  had  that 
negligence  of  person  which  is  remarkable  in  those 
who  are  careful  of  their  minds.  Then  she  had  a 
maid  who  was  at  work  near  her  that  was  a  slattern, 
because  her  mistress  was  careless  ;  which  I  take  to 
be  another  argument  of  your  security  in  her  ;  for 
the  go-betweens  of  women  of  intrigue  arc  rewarded 
too  well  to  be  dirty.  When  you  were  named,  and 
I  told  her  you  desired  to  see  her,  she  threw  down 
her  work  for  joy,  covered  her  face,  and  decently 
hid  her  tears.'  He  must  be  a  very  good  actor,  and 
draw  attention  rather  from  his  own  character  than 
the  words  of  the  author,  that  could  gain  it  among 
us  for  this  speech,  though  so  full  of  nature  and  good 
sense. 

The  intolerable  folly  and  confidence  of  players 


NO.    502.  SPECTATOR.  171 

putting  in  words  of  their  own,  does  in  a  great  mea- 
sure feed  tlie  absurd  taste  of  the  audience.  But 
liowever  that  is,  it  is  ordinary  for  a  cluster  of  cox- 
combs to  take  up  the  house  to  themselves,  and 
equally  insult  both  the  actors  and  the  company. 
These  savages,  who  want  all  manner  of  regard  and 
deference  to  the  rest  of  mankind,  come  only  to  show 
themselves  to  us,  without  any  other  purpose  than  to 
let  us  know  they  despise  us. 

The  gross  of  an  audience  is  composed  of  two 
sorts  of  people,  those  who  know  no  pleasure  but  of 
the  body,  and  those  who  improve  or  command  cor- 
poreal pleasures,  by  the  addition  of  fine  sentiments 
of  the  mind.  At  present,  the  intelligent  part  of  the 
company  are  wholly  subdued  by  the  insurrections 
of  those  who  know  no  satisfactions  but  what  they 
have  in  common  with  all  other  animals. 

This  is  the  reason  that  when  a  scene  tending  to 
procreation  is  acted,  you  see  the  whole  pit  in  such 
a  chuckle,  and  old  lechers,  with  mouths  open,  stare 
at  the  loose  gesticulations  on  the  stage  with  shame- 
ful earnestness  ;  when  the  justest  pictui-es  of  human 
life  in  its  calm  dignity,  and  the  properest  sentiments 
for  the  conduct  of  it,  pass  by  like  mere  narration, 
as  conducing  only  to  somewhat  much  better  which 
is  to  come  after.  I  have  seen  the  whole  house  at 
some  times  in  so  proper  a  disposition,  that  indeed  I 
have  trembled  for  the  boxes,  and  feared  the  enter- 
tainment would  end  in  the  representation  of  the 
Rape  of  the  Sabines. 

I  would  not  be  understood  in  this  talk  to  argue 
that  nothing  is  tolerable  on  the  stage  but  what  has 
an  immediate  tendency  to  the  promotion  of  virtue. 
On  the  contrary,  1  can  allow,  provided  there  is  no- 
thing against  the  interests  of  virtue,  and  is  not  of- 
fensive to  good  manners,  that  things  of  an  indifferent 


172  SPKCTATOU.  NO.    502. 

nature  may  be  represented.  For  this  reason  I  have 
no  exception  to  the  well-drawn  rusticities  in  the 
Country  Wake ;  and  there  is  something  so  miracu- 
lously pleasant  in  Dogget's  acting  the  awkward 
triuin[)ii  and  comic  sorrow  of  Hob  in  ditferent  cir- 
cumstances, that  I  shall  not  be  able  to  stay  away 
whenever  it  is  acted.  All  that  vexes  me  is,  that 
the  gallantry  of  taking  the  cudgels  for  Gloucester- 
shire, with  the  pride  of  heart  in  tucking  himself  up, 
and  taking  aim  at  his  adversary,  as  well  as  the 
other's  protestation  in  the  humanity  of  low  romance, 
that  he  could  not  promise  the  squire  to  break  Hob's 
head,  but  he  would,  if  he  could,  do  it  in  love  ;  then 
flourish  and  begin  :  I  say  what  vexes  me  is,  that 
such  excellent  touches  as  these,  as  well  as  the  squire's 
being  out  of  all  patience  at  Hob's  success,  and  ven- 
turing himself  into  the  crowd,  are  circumstances 
hardly  taken  notice  of,  and  the  height  of  the  jest  is 
only  in  the  very  point  that  heads  are  broken.  I 
am  confident,  were  there  a  scene  written,  wherein 
Penkethman  should  break  his  leg  by  wrestling  with 
Bullock,  and  Dicky  come  in  to  set  it,  without  one 
word  said  but  what  should  be  according  to  the 
exact  rules  of  surgery  in  making  this  extension,  and 
binding  up  the  leg,  the  whole  house  should  be  in  a 
roar  of  applause  at  the  dissembled  anguish  of  the 
patient,  the  help  given  by  him  who  threw  him  down, 
and  the  handy  address  and  arch  looks  of  the  sur- 
geon. To  enumerate  the  entrance  of  ghosts,  the 
embattling  of  armies,  the  noise  of  heroes  in  love, 
with  a  thousand  other  enormities,  would  be  to  trans- 
gress the  bounds  of  this  pai)er,  for  which  reason  it 
is  possible  they  may  have  hereafter  distinct  dis- 
courses ;  not  forgetting  any  of  the  audience  who 
shall  set  up  for  actors,  and  interrupt  the  play  on  the 
stage,  and  players  who  shall  prefer  the  applause  of 


NO.    503.  SPECTATOR.  173 

fools,  to  that  of  the  reasonable   part  of  the  com* 
pany. 

T 

POSTSCRIPT    TO    SPECTATOR,   NO.    502. 

N.  B.  There  are  in  the  play  of  the  Self-Tor- 
mentor of  Terence,  which  is  allowed  a  most  excel- 
lent comedy,  sevei-al  incidents  which  would  draw 
tears  from  any  man  of  sense,  and  not  one  which 
would  move  his  laughter. — Spect.  in  folio,  No.  521, 

This  speculation,  No.  502,  is  controverted  in  the 
Guai-d.  No.  59,  by  a  writer  under  the  fictitious  name 
of  John  Lizard ;  perhaps  Dr.  Edw.  Young. 


No.  503.     TUESDAY,  OCTOBER  7,  1712. 


— Deleo  omnes  dehinc  ex  animo  muUeres. 

TER.   EUN.    ACT.   ii.    SC.    3,    5. 

From  henceforward  I  blot  out  of  my  thoughts  all  memory  of 
womankind. 

"  MR.    SPECTATOR, 

"  You  have  often  mentioned  with  great  vehe- 
mence and  indignation  the  misbehaviour  of  people  at 
church ;  but  I  am  at  present  to  talk  to  you  on  that 
subject,  and  complain  to  you  of  one,  whom  at  the 
same  time  I  know  not  what  to  accuse  of,  except  it 
be  looking  too  well  there,  and  diverting  the  eyes  of 
the  congregation  to  that  one  object.  Howevei",  I 
have  this  to  say,  that  she  might  have  stayed  at  her 


174  SPECTATOR.  NO.    503 

own  parish,  and  not  ctmio  to  pcrplox  tlioso  wlio  are 
otherwise  intent  upon  their  duty. 

"  Last  Sunday  was  seven-nij^iit  I  went  into  a 
churcii  not  far  fjjoni  London-bridge ;  but  .1  wish  I 
had  been  contented  to  go  to  my  own  parish,  I  am 
sure  it  had  been  better  for  me ;  I  say  I  went  to 
churcdi  thitlier,  and  got  into  a  jiew  very  near  the 
pulpit.  I  Imd  liardly  been  accommodated  with  a 
seat,  before  thei-e  entered  into  the  aish;  a  young 
lady  in  ihe  very  bloom  of  youth  and  beauty,  and 
dressed  in  the  most  elegant  maimer  imajjinable. 
Her  form  was  such  that  it  engaged  the  eyes  of  the 
whole  congregation  in  an  instant,  and  mine  among 
the  rest.  Though  we  were  all  thus  fixed  upon  her, 
she  was  not  in  the  least  out  of  countenance,  or  un- 
der the'  least  disorder,  though  unattended  by  any 
one,  and  not  seeming  to  know  particularly  where  to 
place  herself.  However,  she  had  not  in  the  least  a 
confident  aspect,  but  moved  on  with  the  most  grace- 
ful modesty,  every  one  making  way  till  she  came 
to  a  seat  just  over  against  that  in  which  I  was 
placed.  The  deputy  of  the  ward  sat  in  that  pew, 
and  she  stood  opposite  to  him,  and  at'  a  glance  into 
the  seat,  though  she  did  not  appear  the  least  ac- 
quainted with  the  gentleman,  was  let  in,  with  a 
confusion  that  spoke  much  admiration  at  the  no- 
velty of  the  thing.  The  service  immediately  began, 
and  she  com[)Osed  herself 'for  it  with  an  air  of  so 
much  goodness  and  sweetness,  that  the  confession 
which  she  uttered,  so  as  to  be  heard  where  I  sat, 
appeared  an  act  of  humiliation  more  than  she  had 
occasion  for.  The  truth  is,  her  beauty  had  some- 
thing so  innocent,  and  yet  so  sublime,  that  we  all 
gazed  upon  her  like  a  phantom.  None  of  the  pic- 
tures which  we  behold  of  the  best  Italian  painters 
have  any  thing  like  the  spirit  whicli  ai)pcared  in  her 


NO.  603.  SPECTATOR.  175 

countenance,  at  the  different  sentiments  expressed 
in  the  several  parts  of  divine  service.  That  grati- 
tude and  joy  at  a  thanksgiving,  that  lowliness  and 
sorrow  at  the  prayers  for  the  sick  and  distressed, 
that  triumph  at  the  passages  which  gave  instances 
of  the  divine  mercy,  which  appeared  respectively 
in  her  aspect,  will  be  in  my  memory  to  my  last  hour. 
I  protest  to  you,  Sir,  she  suspended  the  devotion  of 
every  one  around  her ;  and  the  ease  she  did  every 
thing  with  soon  dispersed  the  churlish  dislike  and 
hesitation  in  approving  what  is  excellent,  too  fre- 
quent among  us,  to  a  general  attention  and  enter- 
tainment in  observing  her  behaviour.  All  the  while 
that  we  were  gazing  at  her,  she  took  notice  of  no 
object  about  her,  but  had  an  art  of  seeming  awk- 
wardly attentive,  whatever  else  her  eyes  were  ac- 
cidentally thrown  upon.  One  thing,  indeed,  was 
particular,  she  stood  the  whole  service,  and  never 
kneeled  or  sat;  I  do  not  question  but  that  was  to 
show  herself  with  the  greater  advantage,  and  set 
forth  to  better  grace  her  hands  and  arms,  lifted  up 
with  the  most  ardent  devotion ;  and  her  bosom,  the 
fairest 'that  was  ever  se^n,  bare  to  observation; 
while  she,  you  must  think,  knew  nothing  of  the 
concern  she  gave  others,  any  other  than  as  an  exi- 
ample  of  devotion,  that  threw  herself  out,  without 
regard  to  dress  or  garment,  all  contrition,  and  loose 
of  all  worldly  regards,  in  ecstasy  of  devotion.  Well; 
now  the  organ  was  to  play  a  voluntary,  and  she  was 
so  skilful  in  music,  and  so  touched  with  it,  that  she 
kept  time  not  only  with  some  motion  of  her  head, 
but  also  with  a  different  air  in  her  countenance. 
When  the  music  was  strong  and  bold,  she  looked 
exalted,  but  serious ;  when  lively  and  airy,  she  was 
smiling  and  gracious ;  when  the  notes  were  more 
soft  and  languishing,  she  was  kind  and  full  of  pity. 


176  Sl'ECTATUU.  NO.    503. 

When  she  had  now  made  it  visible  to  the  whole 
congregation,  by  her  motion  and  ear,  that  she  could 
dance,  and  she  wanted  now  only  to  inform  us  that 
she  could  sing  too ;  when  the  psalm  was  given  out, 
her  voice  was  distinguished  above  all  the  rest,  or 
rather  people  did  not  exert  their  own,  in  order  to 
hear  her.  Never  was  any  heard  so  sweet  and  so 
strong.  The  organist  observed  it,  and  he  thought 
fit  to  play  to  her  only,  and  she  swelled  every  note, 
when  she  found  she  had  thrown  us  all  out,  and  had 
the  last  verse  to  herself  in  such  a  manner  as  the 
whole  congregation  was  intent  upon  her,  in  the  same 
manner  as  you  see  in  the  cathedrals  they  are  on  the 
person  who  sings  alone  the  anthem.  Well ;  it  came 
at  last  to  the  sermon,  and  our  young  lady  would  not 
lose  her  part  in  that  neither ;  for  she  fixed  her  eye 
upon  the  preacher,  and  as  he  said  any  thing  she  ap- 
proved, with  one  of  Charles  Mather's  fine  tablets 
she  set  down  the  sentence,  at  once  showing  her  fine 
hand,  the  gold  pen,  her  readiness  in  writing,  and  her 
judgment  in  choosing  what  to  write.  To  sum  up 
what  I  intend  by  this  long  and  particular  account,  I 
mean  to  appeal  to  you,  whether  it  is  reasonable  that 
such  a  creature  as  this  shall  come  from  a  janty  part 
of  the  town,  and  give  herself  such  violent  airs,  to 
the  disturbance  of  an  innocent  and  inoffensive  con- 
gregation, with  her  sublimities.  The  fact,  I  assure 
you,  was  as  I  have  related  ;  but  I  had  like  to  have 
forgot  another  very  considerable  particular.  As  soon 
as  church  was  done,  she  immediately  stepped  out  of 
her  pew,  and  fell  into  the  finest  pitty-pat  air,  for- 
sooth, wonderfully  out  of  countenance,  tossing  her 
head  up  and  down,  as  she  swam  along  the  body  of 
the  church.  I,  with  several  others  of  the  inhabit- 
ants, followed  her  out,  and  saw  her  hold  up  her 
fan  to  a  hackney-coach  at  a  distance,  who  imme- 


NO.   503.  SPECTATOR.  177 

diately  came  up  to  her,  and  she  whipped  into  it  with 
great  nimbleness,  pulled  the  door  with  a  bowing- 
mien,  as  if  she  had  been  used  to  a  better  glass.  She 
said  aloud,  'You  know  where  to  go,'  and  drove  off. 
By  this  time  the  best  of  the  congregation  was  at  the 
church  door,  and  I  could  hear  some  say,  '  A  very 
fine  lady  ; '  others,  '  I'll  warrant  you,  she  is  no  better 
than  she  should  be ; '  and  one  very  wise  old  lady 
said,  she  ought  to  have  been  taken  up.  Mr.  Spec- 
tator, I  think  this  matter  lies  wholly  before  you  ; 
for  the  offence  does  not  come  under  any  law,  though 
it  is  apparent  this  creature  came  among  us  only  to 
give  herself  airs,  and  enjoy  her  full  swing  in  being 
admired.  I  desire  you  will  print  this,  that  she  may 
be  confined  to  her  own  parish ;  for  I  can  assure  you 
there  is  no  attending  any  thing  else  in  a  place  where 
she  is  a  novelty.  She  has  been  talked  of  among  us 
ever  since  under  the  name  of  '  the  phantom  ; '  but  I 
would  advise  her  to  come  no  more ;  for  there  is  so 
strong  a  party  made  by  the  women  against  her,  that 
she  must  expect  they  will  not  be  excelled  a  second 
time  in  so  outrageous  a  manner,  without  doing  her 
some  insult.  Young  women,  who  assume  after  this 
rate,  and  affect  exposing  themselves  to  view  in  con- 
gregations at  the  other  end  of  the  town,  are  not  so 
mischievous,  because  they  are  rivalled  by  more  of 
the  same  ambition,  who  will  not  let  the  rest  of  the 
company  be  particular  ;  but  in  the  name  of  the  whole 
congregation  where  I  was,  I  desire  you  to  keep 
these  agx-eeable  disturbances  out  of  the  city,  where 
sobriety  of  manners  is  still  preserved,  and  all  glar- 
ing and  ostentatious  behaviour,  even  in  things  laud- 
able, discountenanced.  I  wish  you  may  never  see 
the  phantom,  and  am,         "  Sir, 

"  Your  most  humble  servant, 

"  Ralph  Wonder." 

VOL.   XI.  12 


178  STKCTATOR.  NO.    504 


No.  504.     WEDNP:SDAY,  OCTOBER  8,  1712. 


Lepus  tute  es,  et  pulpamentum  quceris. 

TER.    KUN.    ACT.    iii.    8C.    1.   36. 

Yon  are  a  hare  yourself,  and  want  dainties  forsooth. 

It  is  a  great  coiivciiience  to  those  who  want  wit 
to  fiirnisli  out  a  conversation,  that  there  is  some- 
thing or  other  in  all  companies  where  it  is  wanted 
substituted  in  its  stead,  which,  according  to  their 
taste,  does  the  business  as  well.  Of  this  nature  is 
the  agreeable  pastime  in  country-halls  of  cross-pur- 
poses, questions  and  commands,  and  the  like.  A 
little  superior  to  these  are  those  who  can  play  at 
crambo,  or  cap  verses.  Then  above  them  are  such 
as  can  make  verses,  that  is,  rhyme  ;  and  among  those 
who  have  the  Latin  tongue,  such  as  use  to  make 
what  they  call  golden  verses.  Commend  me  also 
to  those  who  have  not  brains  enough  for  any  of 
these  exercises,  and  yet  do  not  give  up  their  pre- 
tensions to  mirth.  These  can  slap  you  on  the  back 
unawares,  laugh  loud,  ask  you  how  you  do  with  a 
twang  on  your  shoulders,  say  you  are  dull  to-day, 
and  laugh  a  voluntary  to  put  you  in  humour;  [not 
to  mention]  the  laborious  way  among  the  minor 
poets,  of  making  things  come  into  such  and  such  a 
shape,  as  that  of  an  egg,  a  hand,  an  axe,  or  any 
thing  that  nobody  had  ever  thought  on  before  for 
that  purpose,  or  which  would  have  cost  a  great  deal 
of  pains  to  accomplish  if  they  did.  But  all  these 
i!iethods,  though  they  are  mechanical,  and  may  be 


NO.   504.  SPECTATOR.  179 

arrived  at  with  the  smallest  capacity,  do  not  serve 
an  liouest  gentleman  who  wants  wit  for  his  ordinary 
occasions ;  therefore,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  that 
the  poor  in  imagination  should  have  something  which 
may  be  serviceable  to  them  at  all  hours  upon  all 
common  occuiTcnces.  That  which  we  call  punning 
is  therefore  greatly  affected  by  men  of  small  intel- 
lects. These  men  need  not  be  concerned  with  you 
for  the  whole  sentence  ;  but  if  they  can  say  a  quaint 
thing,  or  bring  in  a  word  which  sounds  like  any  one 
word  you  have  spoken  to  them,  they  can  turn  the 
discourse,  or  distract  you  so  that  you  cannot  go  on ; 
and  by  consequence,  if  thjy  cannot  be  as  witty  as 
you  are,  they  can  hinder  your  being  any  wittier 
than  they  are.  Thus,  if  you  talk  of  a  candle,  he 
'can  deal'  with  you;  and  if  you  ask  him  to  help 
you  to  some  bread,  a  punster  should  think  himself 
very  '  ill-bred '  if  he  did  not ;  and  if  he  is  not  as  '  well- 
bred  '  as  yourself,  he  hopes  for  '  grains '  of  allowance. 
If  you  do  not  understand  that  last  fancy,  you  must 
recollect  that  bread  is'made  of  grain  ;  and  so  they 
go  on  forever,  without  possibility  of  being  exhausted. 
There  are  another  kind  of  people  of  small  facul- 
ties, who  supply  want  of  wit  with  want  of  breed- 
ing; and  because  women  are  both  by  nature  and 
education  more  offended  at  any  thing  which  is  im- 
modest than  we  men  are,  these  are  ever  harping 
upon  things  they  ought  not  to  allude  to,  and  deal 
mightily  in  double  meanings.  Every  one's  own 
observation  -will  suggest  instances  enough  of  this 
kind,  without  my  mentioning  any  ;  for  your  double 
meaners  are  dispersed  up  and  down  througii  all 
parts  of  town  or  city  where  there  are  any  to  offend, 
in  order  to  set  off  themselves.  These  men  are 
mighty  loud  laughers,  and  held  very  pretty  gentle- 
men with  the  sillier  and  unbred  part  of  womankind. 


180  SPECTATOR.  NO.    504. 

But  above  all  already  mciitioned,  or  any  who  ever 
were,  or  ever  can  be  in  tlie  world,  the  happiest  and 
surest  to  be  pleasant,  are  a  sort  ot"  people  whom  we 
have  not  indeed  lately  heard  much  of,  and  those  are 
your  '  biters.' 

A  biter  is  one  who  tells  you  a  thing  you  have  no 
reason  to  disbelieve  in  itself,  and  perhaps  has  given 
you,  before  he  bit  you,  no  reason  to  disbelieve  it  for 
his  saying  it  ;  and,  if  you  give  iiim  credit,  laughs  in 
your  face,  and  triumphs  that  he  has  deceived  you. 
In  a  word,  a  biter  is  one  who  thinks  you  a  fool,  be- 
cause you  do  not  think  him  a  knave.  This  descrip- 
tion of  him  one  may  insist  upon  to  be  a  just  one ; 
for  what  else  but  a  degree  of  knavery  is  it,  to  de- 
pend upon  deceit  for  wiiat  you  gain  of  another,  be 
it  in  point  of  wit,  or  interest,  or  any  thing  else  ? 

This  way  of  wit  is  called  '  biting,'  by  a  metaphor 
taken  from  beasts  of  prey,  which  devour  harmless 
and  unarmed  animals,  and  look  upon  them  as  their 
food  wherever  they  meet  them.  The  sharpers  about 
town  very  ingeniously  understood  themselves  to  be 
to  the  undesigning  part  of  mankind  what  foxes  are 
to  lambs,  and  therefore  used  the  word  biting,  to  ex- 
press any  exploit  wherein  they  had  overreached  any 
innocent  and  inadvertent  man  of  his  purse.  These 
rascals  of  late  years  have  been  the  gallants  of  the 
town,  and  carried  it  with  a  fashionable  haughty  air, 
to  the  discouragement  of  modesty,  and  all  honest 
arts.  Shallow  fops,  who  are  governed  by  the  eye, 
and  admire  every  thing  that  struts  in  vogue,  took  up 
from  the  sharpei's  the  phrase  of  biting,  and  used  it 
upon  all  occasions,  either  to  disown  any  nonsensical 
stuff  they  should  talk  themselves,  or  evade  the  force 
of  what  was  reasonably  said  by  others.  Thus,  when 
one  of  these  cunning  creatures  was  entered  into  a 
debate  with  you,  whether  it  was  practicable  in  the 


NO.  504.  SPECTATOE.  181 

present  state  of  aflPairs  to  accomplish  such  a  pro- 
position, and  you  thought  he  had  let  fall  what  de- 
stroyed his  side  of  the  question,  as  soon  as  you  looked 
with  an  earnestness  ready  to  lay  hold  of  it,  he  im- 
mediately cried,  '  Bite,'  and  you  were  immediately 
to  acknowledge  all  that  part  was  in  jest.  They 
carry  this  to  all  the  extravagance  imaginable  ;  and 
if  one  of  these  witlings  knows  any  particulars  which 
may  give  authority  to  what  he  says,  he  is  still  the 
more  ingenious  if  he  imposes  upon  your  credulity. 
I  remember  a  remarkable  instance  of  this  kind. 
There  came  up  a  shrewd  young  fellow  to  a  plain 
young  man,  his  countryman,  and  taking  him  aside 
with  a  grave,  concerned  countenance,  goes  on  at  this 
rate  :  '  I  see  you  here,  and  have  you  heard  nothing 
out  of  Yorkshire  ? — You  look  so  surprised  you  could 
not  have  heard  of  it — and  yet  the  particulars  are 
such  that  it  cannot  be  false  ;  I  am  sorry  I  am  got 
into  it  so  far  that  I  now  must  tell  you ;  but  I  know 
not  but  it  may  be  for  your  service  to  know.  On 
Tuesday  last,  jiist  after  dinner — you  know  his  man- 
ner is  to  smoke — opening  his  box,  your  father  fell 
down  dead  in  an  apoplexy.'  The  youth  showed 
the  filial  sorrow  which  he  ought — Upon  which  the 
witty  man  cried,  '  Bite,  there  was  nothing  in  all 
this.' 

To  put  an  end  to  this  silly,  pernicious,  frivolous 
way  at  once,  I  will  give  the  reader  one  late  instance 
of  a  bite,  wliich  no  biter  for  the  future  will  ever  be 
able  to  equal,  though  I  heartily  wish  him  the  same 
occasion.  It  is  a  superstition  with  some  surgeons 
who  beg  the  bodies  of  condemned  malefactors,  to  go 
to  the  gaol,  and  bargain  for  the  carcase  with  the 
criminal  himself.  A  good  honest  fellow  did  so  last 
sessions,  and  was  admitted  to  the  condemned  men 
on  the  morning  wherein   they  died.     The   surgeon 


182  SPECTATOR.  NO.  504. 

communioatt'd  his  bnsine-s,  and  fell  into  discourse 
with  a  little  fellow,  who  refused  twelve  shillings,  and 
insisted  upon  fifteen  for  his  body.  The  fellow,  who 
killed  the  otticer  of  Newgate,  very  forwardly,  and 
like  a  man  who  was  willinir  to  deal,  told  him,  '  Look 
you,  Mv.  Surgeon,  that  little  dry  fellow,  who  has 
been  half-starved  all  his  life,  and  is  now  half  dead 
with  fear,  cannot  answer  your  purpose.  I  have 
ever  lived  high  and  freely,  my  veins  are  full,  I  have 
not  pined  in  imprisonment ;  you  see  my  crest  swells 
to  your  knife  ;  and  after  Jack  Catch  has  done,  upon 
my  honour  you  will  find  me  as  sound  as  ever  a  bul- 
lock in  any  of  the  markets.  Come,  for  twenty  shil- 
lings, I  am  your  man.'  Says  the  surgeon,  '  Done, 
there  is  a  guinea.'  This  witty  rogue  took  the  nao- 
ney,  and  as  soon  as  he  had  it  in  his  fist,  cries,  *  Bite, 
I  am  to  be  hanged  in  chains.' 
T 


NO.   505.  SFECTATOli.  183 


No.  505.    THURSDAY,  OCTOBER  9,  1712. 


Non  haheo  denique  nauci  Marsum  augwevi, 
Non  vicanos  ai-uspices,  non  de  circo  astrologos. 
Nan  Isiacos  conjectores,  non  interpretes  somnium : 
Non  enim  sunt  ii,  aut  scientid,  aut  arte  dinini, 
Bed  su2Jersiitlosi  vales,  impudentesque  hnvioU, 
Ant  inertes,  aut  insani,  aut  quibus  egestas  imperat : 
Qui  sui  questus  caujid  JicUis  susvitanl  scnttnlias,  _ 
Qui  sibi  semilam  non  sapiuiit,  alteri  nionstrant  viain, 
Quibus  divitias  polKcentur,  ab  iis  drackinam  petunt : 
De  divitiis  deducaiit  drachmam,  reddant  ccBtera. 

KNNIUS. 

Augars  and  soothsayers,  astrologers, 

Diviners,  and  interpreters  of  dreams, 

I  ne'er  consult,  and  heartily  despise: 

Vain  their  pretence  to  more  than  human  skill :  ^ 

For  gain,  imaginary  schemes  they  draw; 

Wand'rers  themselves,  they  guide  another's  steps: 

And  for  poor  sixpence  promise  countless  wealth: 

Let  them,  if  they  expect  to  be  believed. 

Deduct  the  sixpence,  and  bestow  the  rest. 

Those  who  have  maintained  that  men  would  be 
more  miserable  than  beasts,  were  their  hopes  con- 
fined to  this  life  only,  among  other  considerations 
take  notice  that  the  latter  are  only  afflicted  with  the 
anguish  of  the  present  evil,  whereas  the  former  are 
very  often  pained  by  the  reflection  on  what  is  i)assed, 
and  the  fear  of  what  is  to  come.  This  fear  of  any 
future  difficulties  or  misfortunes  is  so  natural  to  the 
mind,  that  were  a  man's  sorrows  and  disquietudes 
summed  up  at  the  end  of  his  life,  it  would  generally 
be  found  that  he  had  suffered  more  from  the  appre- 
hension of  such  evils  as  never  happened  to  him, 
than  from  those  evils  which  had  really  befallen  him. 


181  SPECTATOIJ.  NO.    505. 

To  this  we  may  add,  that  among  those  evils  which 
befall  us,  there  are  many  which  have  been  more 
painful  to  us  in  the  prospect,  than  by  their  actual 
pressure. 

This  natural  impatience  to  look  into  futurity,  and 
to  know  what  accidents  may  happen  to  us  hereafter, 
has  given  birth  to  many  ridiculous  arts  and  inven- 
tions. Some  found  their  prescience  on  the  lines  of 
a  man's  hand,  others  on  the  features  of  his  face ; 
some  on  the  signatures  which  nature  has  impressed 
on  his  body,  and  others  on  his  own  handwriting: 
some  read  men's  fortunes  in  the  stars,  as  others  liave 
searched  after  them  in  the  entrails  of  beasts,  or  the 
flight  of  birds.  Men  of  the  best  sense  have  been 
touched  more  or  less  with  these  groundless  horrors 
and  presages  of  futurity,  upon  surveying  the  most 
indifferent  works  of  nature.  Can  any  thing  be  more 
surprising  than  to  consider  Cicero,  who  made  the 
greatest  figure  at  the  bar  and  in  the  senate  of  the 
Roman  commonwealth,  and  at  the  same  time  out- 
shined  all  the  philosophers  of  antiquity  in  his  library 
and  in  his  retirements,  as  busying  himself  in  the 
college  of  augurs,  and  observing  with  a  religious 
attention  after  what  manner  the  chickens  pecked 
the  several  grains  of  corn  which  were  thrown  to 
them  ?  * 

Notwithstanding  these  follies  are  pretty  well  worn 
out  of  the  minds  of  the  wise  and  learned  in  the 
present  age,  multitudes  of  weak  and  ignorant  per- 
sons are  still  slaves  to  them.  There  are  numberless 
arts  of  prediction  among  the  vulgar,  which  are  too 
trifling  to  enumerate  ;  and  infinite  observations  of 
days,  numbers,  voices,  and  figures,   which  are  re- 

*  This  censure  of  Cicero  seems  to  be  unfounded;  for  it  is 
said  of  liim,  that  he  wondered  how  one  augur  could  meet  an- 
other without  laughing  in  his  face. 


NO.  505.  spe;ctator.  185 

garded  by  them  as  portents  and  prodigies.  In  short, 
every  thing  prophesies  to  the  superstitious  man  ; 
there  is  scarce  a  straw,  or  a  rusty  piece  of  ii-on,  that 
lies  in  his  way  by  accident. 

It  is  not  to  be  conceived  how  many  wizards, 
gipsies,  and  cunning  men,  are  dispersed  through  all 
the  counties  and  market-towns  of  Great  Britain,  not 
to  mention  the  fortune-tellers  and  astrologers,  who 
live  very  comfortably  upon  the  curiosity  of  several 
well-disposed  persons  in  the  cities  of  London  and 
Westminster. 

Among  the  many  pretended  arts  of  divination, 
there  is  none  which  so  universally  amuses  as  that 
by  dreams.  I  have  indeed  observed  in  a  late  spe- 
culation, that  there  have  been  sometimes,  upon  very 
extcaordinary  occasions,  supernatural  revelations 
made  to  certain  persons  by  this  means  ;  but  as  it  is 
the  chief  business  of  this  paper  to  root  out  popular 
errors,  I  must  endeavour  to  expose  the  folly  and. 
superstition  of  those  pei'sons,  who,  in  the  common 
and  ordinary  course  of  life,  lay  any  stress  upon 
things  of  so  uncertain,  shadowy,  and  chimerical  a 
nature.  This  I  cannot  do  more  effectually  than  by 
the  following  letter,  which  is  dated  from  a  quarter 
of  the  town  that  has  always  been  the  habitation,  of 
some  prophetic  Philomath  ;  it  having  been  usual, 
time  out  of  mind,  for  all  such  people  as  have  lost 
their  wits,  to  resort  to  that  place  either  for  their 
cure  or  for  their  instruction. 

"  MR.   SPECTATOR, 

"  Having  long  considered  whether  there  be  any 
trade  wanting  in  this  great  city,  after  having  surveyed 
very  attentively  all  kinds  of  ranks  and  professions, 
I  do  not  find  in  any  quarter  of  the  town  an  oneiro- 
critic,  or,  in  plain  English,  an  interpreter  of  dreams. 


186  Srr.CTATOR.  no.  505. 

For  want  of  so  useful  ;i  jxtsou,  there  are  several 
good  people  who  are  very  much  puzzled  iu  this 
particular,  and  dream  a  whole  year  together  without 
being  ever  the  wiser  for  it.  I  hoj)e  I  am  pretty 
well  ([ualified  for  this  office,  having  studied  by 
candle-light  all  the  rules  of  art  which  have  been 
laid  down  upon  this  subject.  My  great  uncle  by 
my  wife's  side  was  a  Scotch  highlander,  and  second- 
sighted.  I  have  four  fingers  and  two  thumbs  upon 
one  hand,  and  was  born  on  the  longest  night  of  the 
year.  My  Christian  and  surname  begin  and  end 
with  the  same  letters.  I  am  lodged  in  Moorfields, 
in  a  house  that  for  these  fifty  years  has  been  always 
tenanted  by  a  conjuror. 

"  li  you  had  been  in  company,  so  much  as  my- 
self, with  ordinary  women  of  the  town,  you  must 
know  that  there  are  many  of  them  who,  every  day 
in  their  lives,  upon  seeing  or  hearing  of  any  thing 
that  is  unexpected,  cry,  '  My  dream  is  out;'  and 
cannot  go  to  sleep  in  quiet  the  next  night,  till  some- 
thing or  other  has  happened  which  has  expounded 
the  visions  of  the  preceding  one.  There  are  others 
who  are  in  very  great  pain  for  not  being  able  to 
recover  the  circumstances  of  a  dream,  that  made 
strong  impressions  upon  them  while  it  lasted.  In 
short.  Sir,  there  are  many  whose  waking  thoughts 
are  wholly  employed  on  their  sleeping  ones.  For 
the  benefit,  therefore,  of  this  curious  and  inquisitive 
part  of  my  fellow-subjects,  I  shall  in  the  first 
place  tell  those  persons  what  they  dreamt  of,  who 
fancy  they  never  dream  at  all.  In  the  next  place 
I  shall  make  out  any  dream,  upon  hearing  a  single 
circumstance  of  it ;  and  in  the  last  place,  shall 
expound  to  them  the  good  or  bad  fortune  which 
some  dreams  portend.  If  they  do  not  presage  good 
luck,  I  shall  desire  nothing  for  my  i)ains ;  not  ques- 


NO.   505.  SPECTATOR.  187 

tioning,  at  the  same  time,  that  those  who  consult  me 
will  be  so  reasonable  as  to  afford  me  a  moderate 
share  out  of  any  considerable  estate,  profit,  or  emo- 
lument, which  I  shall  thus  discover  to  them.  I 
interpret  to  the  poor  for  nothing,  on  condition  that 
their  names  may  be  insertecl  in  public  advertise- 
ments, to  attest  the  truth  of  such  my  interpretations. 
As  for  people  of  quality,  or  others  who  are  indis- 
posed, and  do  not  care  to  come  in  person,  I  can  in- 
terpret their  dreams  by  seeing  their  water.  I  set 
aside  one  day  in  the  week  for  lovers ;  and  interpret 
by  the  great  for  any  gentlewoman  who  is  turned 
of  sixty,  after  the  rate  of  half  a  crown  per  week, 
with  the  usual  allowances  for  good  luck.  I  have 
several  rooms  and  apartments  fitted  up  at  reason- 
able rates,  for  such  as  have  not  conveniences  for 
dreaming  at  their  own  houses. 

"  Titus  Throphoius." 
"  N.  B.     I  am  not  dumb." 
"  Moorfields,  October  4,  1712." 

0 


188  SPECTATOR. 


NO.   506, 


No.  506.     FRIDAY,  OCTOBER  10,  1712. 


Candida  perpetiu)  reside,  Omcfirdia,  lecto, 
Tdimjue  jjiiri  semper  sit  Veiitis  oequa  jugo. 

Dilioat  ilia  senem  (quondam ;  sed  el  ijjsa  marito, 
'June  quoque  cum  J'uerit,  nun  videatur  anus. 

MAHT.   KPIG.   iv.   13.   7. 

Perpetual  harmony  their  bed  attend, 
And  Venus  still  tlie  well-matcli'd  pair  befriend! 
May  she,  wiien  time  lia'<  sunk  him  into  years. 
Love  her  old  man,  and  eherish  his  white  hairs; 
Nor  he  perceive  her  ciiarras  thro'  age  decay, 
But  think  each  liapjjy  sun  his  bridal  day ! 

The  following  essay  is  written  by  the  gentleman 
to  whom  the  world  is  obliged  for  those  several  ex- 
cellent discourses  which  have  been  marked  with  the 
letter  X. 

I  have  somewhere  met  with  a  fable  that  made 
Wealth  the  father  of  Love.  It  is  certain  that  a 
mind  ouglit  at  least  to  be  free  from  the  apprehensions 
of  want  and  poverty,  before  it  can  fully  attend  to  all 
the  softnesses  and  endearments  of  this  passion;  not- 
withstanding, we  see  multitudes  of  married  people, 
who  are  utter  strangers  to  this  delightful  passion 
amidst  all  the  affluence  of  the  most  i)lentiful  for- 
tunes. 

It  is  not  sufficient  to  make  a  mai-riage  happy, 
that  tlie  humours  of  two  people  should  be  alike.  I 
could  instance  a  hundred  pair,  who  have  not  the 
least  sentiment  of  love  remaining  for  one  another, 
yet  are  so  like  in  their  luiinours,  that,  if  they  were 


NO.   506.  SPECTATOR.  189 

not  already  married,  the  whole  world  would  design 
them  for  man  and  wife. 

The  spirit  of  love  has  something  so  extremely 
fine  in  it,  that  it  is  very  often  distui'bed  and  lost, 
by  some  little  accidents,  which  the  careless  and 
unpolite  never  attend  to,  till  it  is  gone  past  reco- 
very. 

Nothing  has  more  contributed  to  banish  it  from 
a  married  state,  than  too  great  a  familiarity,  and 
laying  aside  the  common  rules  of  decency.  Though 
I  could  give  instances  of  this  in  several  particulars, 
I  shall  only  mention  that  of  dress.  The  beaux  and 
belles  about  town,  who  dress  purely  to  catch  one 
another,  think  thei-e  is  no  further  occasion  for  the 
bait,  when  their  first  design  has  succeeded.  But 
besides  the  too  common  fault  in  point  of  neatness, 
there  are  several  others  which  I  do  not  remember 
to  have  seen  touched  upon,  but  in  one  of  our  mo- 
dern comedies,*  where  a  French  woman  offering  to 
undress  and  dress  herself  before  the  lover  of  the 
play,  and  assuring  his  [her]  mistress  that  it  was 
very  usual  in  France,  the  lady  tells  her  that  is  a 
secret  in  dress  she  never  knew  before,  and  that 
she  was  so  unpolished  an  English  woman,  as  to 
resolve  never  to  learn  even  to  dress  before  her 
husband. 

There  is  something  so  gross  in  the  cari'iage  of 
some  wives,  ttiat  they  lose  their  husband's  hearts 
for  faults,  which,  if  a  man  has  either  good-nature 
or  good-breeding,  he  knows  not  how  to  tell  them 
of.  I  am  afraid,  indeed,  the  ladies  are  generally 
most  faulty  in  this  particular ;  who,  at  their  first 
giving  into  love,  find  the  way  so  smooth  and  plea- 
sant, tliat  they  fancy  it  is  scarce  possible  to  be  tired 
in  it. 

*  The  Funeral,  or  Grief  A-la-mode,  by  Steele. 


190  Sl'ECTATOU.  NO.   506 

There  is  so  mucli  nicety  and  discrelion  required 
to  keep  love  alive  after  luariiage,  and  make  conver- 
sation still  new  and  agreeable  after  twenty  or  thirty 
years,  that  I  know  nothing  which  seems  I'eadily  to 
promise  it,  but  an  earnest  endeavour  to  please  on 
both  sides,  and  superior  good  sense  on  the  part  of 
the  man. 

By  a  man  of  sense,  1  mean  one  acquainted  with 
business  and  letters. 

A  woman  very  much  settles  her  esteem  for  a 
man  according  to  the  hgnre  he  makes  in  the  world, 
and  the  character  he  bears  among  his  own  sex.  As 
learning  is  the  chief  advantage  we  have  over  them, 
it  is,  methinks,  as  scandalous  and  inexcusable  for  a 
man  of  fortune  to  be  illiterate,  as  for  a  woman  not 
to  know  how  to  behave  herself  on  the  most  ordi- 
nary occasions.  It  is  this  which  sets  the  two  sexes 
at  the  greatest  distance  ;  a  woman  is  vexed  and 
surprised,  to  lind  nothing  more  in  the  conversa- 
tion of  a  man,  tiian  in  the  common  tattle  of  her 
own  sex. 

Some  small  engagement  at  least  in  business  not 
only  sets  a  man's  talents  in  the  fairest  light,  and 
allots  him  a  part  to  act  in  which  a  wife  cannot  well 
intermeddle,  but  gives  frequent  occasions  for  those 
little  absences,  which,  whatever  seeming  uneasiness 
they  may  give,  are  some  of  the  best  preservatives 
of  love  and  desire. 

The  fair  sex  are  so  conscious  to  themselves,  that 
they  have  nothing  in  them  which  can  deserve  en- 
tirely to  engross  the  whole  man,  that  they  heartily 
despise  one,  who,  to  use  their  own  expression,  is 
always  hanging  at  their  apron-strings. 

Lietitia  is  pretty,  modest,  tender,  and  has  sense 
enough  ;  she  married  Erastus,  who  is  in  a  post  of 
some   business,   and   has   a  general   taste   in   most 


NO.   506. 


SPECTATOR.  191 


parts  of  polite  learuing.  Lfetitia,  wherever  she 
visits,  has  the  pleasure  to  hear  of  something  which 
was  handsomely  said  or  done  by  Erastus.  Erastus, 
since  his  marriage,  is  more  gay  in  his  dress  than 
ever,  and  in  all  companies  is  as  complaisant  to  Lseti- 
tia  as  to  any  other  lady.  I  have  seen  him  give  her 
her  fan  when  it  has  dropped,  with  all  the  gallantry 
of  a  lover.  When  they  take  the  air  together,  Eras- 
tus is  continually  improving  her  thoughts,  and,  with 
a  turn  of  wit  and  spirit  which  is  peculiar  to  him, 
giving  her  an  insight  into  things  she  had  no  notions 
of  before.  Lfetitia  is  transported  at  having  a  new 
world  thus  opened  to  her,  and  hangs  upon  the  man 
that  gives  her  such  agreeable  informations.  Eras- 
tus has  cai-ried  this  point  still  further,  as  he  makes 
her  daily  not  only  more  fond  of  him,  but  infinitely 
more  satisfied  with  herself.  Erastus  finds  a  just- 
ness or  beauty  in  whatever  she  says  or  observes, 
that  Laetitia  herself  was  not  aware  of;  and  Toy  his 
assistance  she  has  discovered  a  hundred  good  quali- 
ties and  accomplishments  in  herself,  wliieh  she  never 
before  once  dreamed  of.  Erastus,  with  the  most 
artful  complaisance  in  the  world,  by  several  remote 
hints,  finds  the  means  to  make  her  say  or  propose 
almost  whatever  he  has  a  mind  to,  which  he  always 
receives  as  her  own  discovery,  and  gives  her  all  the 
reputation  of  it. 

Erastus  has  a  perfect  taste  in  painting,  and  car- 
ried Lajtitia  with  him  the  other  day  to  see  a  collec- 
tion of  pictures.  I  sometimes  visit  this  happy  couple. 
As  we  were  last  week  walking  in  tlie  long  gallery 
before  dinner,  '  I  have  lately  laid  out  some  money 
hi  paintings,' says  Erastus;  'I  bought  that  Venus 
and  Adonis  purely  upon  La^titia's  judgment ;  it  cost 
me  threescore  guineas,  and  I  was  this  morning 
offered  a  hundred  for  it.'     I  turned  towards  Lajtitia, 


192  SPECTATOU.  NO.   506. 

and  saw  lier  cheeks  gluw  wiili  pleasure,  while  at 
the  same  time  she  cast  a  look  upon  Eiastus,  the 
most  tender  and  affectionate  I  ever  beheld. 

Flavilla  married  Tom  Tawdry ;  she  was  taken 
with  his  laced  coat  and  rich  sword-knot ;  she  has 
the  mortification  to  see  Tom  despised  by  all  the 
worthy  part  of  his  own  sex.  Tom  has  nothing  to 
do  after  dinner,  but  to  determine  wdiether  he  will 
pare  his  nails  at  St.  James's,  White's,  or  his  own 
house.  He  has  said  nothing  to  Flavilla  since  they 
were  married  which  she  might  not  have  heard  as 
well  from  her  own  woman.  He  however  takes 
great  care  to  keep  up  the  saucy  ill-natured  authority 
of  a  husband.  Whatever  Flavilla  happens  to  as- 
sert, Tom  immediately  contradicts  with  an  oath  by 
way  of  preface,  and,  '  My  dear,  I  must  tell  you  you 
talk  most  confoundedly  silly.'  Flavilla  had  a  heart 
naturally  as  well  disposed  for  all  the  tenderness  of 
love  as  that  of  Laititia ;  but  as  love  seldom  con- 
tinues long  after  esteem,  it  is  difficult  to  determine, 
at  present,  whether  the  unhappy  Flavilla  hates  or 
despises  the  person  most  whom  she  is  obliged  to 
lead  her  whole  life  with. 


NO.    507.  SPECTATOR.  193 


No.  507.     SATURDAY,  OCTOBER  11,  1712. 


Defendit  numerus,  juncUxque  umbone  phalanges. 

juv.  SAT.  ii.  46. 

Preserved  from  shame  by  numbers  on  om'  side. 

There  is  something  very  sublime,  though  very- 
fanciful,  in  Plato's  description  of  the  Supreme  Be- 
ing ;  that  '  truth  is  his  body,  and  light  his  shadow.' 
According  to  this  definition,  there  is  nothing  so  con- 
tradictory to  his  nature  as  error  and  falsehood.  The 
Platonists  have  so  just  a  notion  of  the  Almighty's 
aversion  to  every  thing  which  is  false  and  en'one- 
ous,  that  they  looked  upon  truth  as  no  less  neces- 
sary than  virtue  to  qualify  a  human  soul  for  the 
enjoyment  of  a  separate  state.  For  this  reason  as 
they  recommended  moral  duties  to  qualify  and  ,sea- 
son  the  will  for  a  future  life,  so  they  prescribed 
several  contemplations  and  sciences  to  rectify  the 
understanding.  Thus,  Plato  has  called  mathemati- 
cal demonstrations  the  cathartics  or  purgatives  of 
the  soul,  as  being  the  most  proper  means  to  cleanse 
it  from  error,  and  to  give  it  a  relish  of  truth  ;  which 
is  the  natural  food  and  nourishment  of  the  under- 
standing, as  virtue  is  the  perfection  and  happiness 
of  the  will. 

There  are  many  authors  who  have  shown  where- 
in the  malignity  of  a  lie  consists,  and  set  ibrth  in 
proper  colours  the  heinousness  of  the  offence.  I 
shall  here  consider  one  particular  kind  of  this  crime, 
whicli  has  not  been  so  much  spoken  to ;  I  mean  that 

VOL.   XI.  13 


194 


SPECTATOR.  NO.    507 


abominable  praoticc  of  partj-'lying.  This  vice  is 
so  very  [tredoininant  among  us  at  present,  that  a 
man  is  tiiought  of  no  principles  wlio  does  not  pro- 
pagate a  certain  system  uf  lies.  The  coffee-houses 
are  supported  by  them,  tlie  press  is  choked  with 
them,  eminent  autliors  live  upon  them.  Our  bottle 
conversation  is  so  infected  witli  tiiem,  that  a  party- 
lie  is  grown  as  fasliionable  an  entertainment  as  a 
lively  catch,  or  a  merry  story.  The  truth  of  it  is, 
half  the  great  talkers  in  the  nation  would  be  struck 
dumb  weie  this  fountain  of  discourse  dried  up. 
There  is,  however,  one  advantage  resulting  from 
this  detestable  practice :  the  very  appearances  of 
truth  are  so  little  regarded,  that  lies  are  at  present 
discharged  in  the  air,  and  begin  to  hurt  nobody. 
When  we  hear  a  party-story  from  a  stranger,  we 
consider  whether  he  is  a  whig  or  a  tory  that  relates 
it,  and  immediately  conclude  they  are  words  of 
course,  in  which  the  honest  gentleman  designs  to 
recommend  his  zeal,  without  any  concern  for  his 
veracity.  A  man  is  looked  upon  as  bereft  of  com- 
mon sense,  that  gives  credit  to  the  relations  of  party 
writers  ;  nay,  his  own  friends  shake  their  heads  at 
him,  and  consider  him  in  no  other  light  than  as  an 
officious  tool,  or  a  well-meaning  idiot.  When  it 
was  formerly  the  fashion  to  husband  a  lie,  and  trump 
it  up  in  some  extraordinary  emergency,  it  generally 
did  execution,  and  was  not  a  little  serviceable  to 
the  faction  that  made  use  of  it;  but  at  present 
every  man  is  upon  his  guard :  the  artifice  has  been 
too  often  repeated  to  take  effect. 

I  have  frequently  wondered  to  see  men  of  probity, 
who  would  scorn  to  utter  a  falsehood  for  their  own 
particular  advantage,  give  so  readily  into  a  lie, 
when  it  is  become  the  voice  of  their  faction,  not- 
withstanding they  are  thoroughly  sensible  of  it  as 


NO.    507.  SPECTATOR.  195 

such.  How  is  it  possible  for  those  who  are  men 
of  honour  in  their  persons,  thus  to  become  notori- 
ous liars  in  their  party  ?  If  we  look  into  the  bot- 
tom of  this  matter,  we  may  find,  I  think,  three 
i-easons  for  it,  and  at  the  same  time  discover  the 
insufficiency  of  these  reasons  to  justify  so  criminal 
a  practice. 

In  the  first  place,  men  are  apt  to  think  that  the 
guilt  of  a  lie,  and  consequently  the  punishment, 
may  be  very  much  diminished,  if  not  wholly  worn 
out,  by  the  multitudes  of  those  who  partake  in  it. 
Though  the  weight  of  a  falsehood  would  be  too 
heavy  for  one  to  bear,  it  grows  light  in  their  imagi- 
nations when  it  is  shared  among  many.  But  in 
this  case,  a  man  very  much  deceives  himself;  guilt, 
when  it  spreads  through  numbers,  is  not  so  properly 
divided  as  multiplied.  Every  one  is  criminal  in 
pi'oportion  to  the  offence  which  he  commits,  not  to 
the  number  of  those  who  are  his  companions  in  it. 
Both  the  crime  and  the  penalty  lie  as  heavy  upon 
every  individual  of  an  offending  multitude,  as  they 
would  upon  any  single  person,  had  none  shared 
with  him  in  the  offence.  In  a  word,  the  division 
of  guilt  is  like  that  of  matter :  though  it  may  be 
separated  into  infinite  portions,  every  portion  shall 
have  the  whole  essence  of  matter  in  it,  and  consist 
of  as  many  parts  as  the  whole  did  before  it  was 
divided. 

But  in  the  second  place,  though  multitudes,  who 
join  in  a  lie,  cannot  exempt  themselves  from  the 
guilt,  they  may  from  the  shame  of  it.  The  scandal 
of  a  lie  is  in  a  manner  lost  and  annihilated,  when 
diffused  among  several  thousands  ;  as  a  drop  of  the 
•  blackest  tincture  wears  away  and  vanishes,  when 
mixed  and  confused  in  a  considerable  body  of  wa- 
ter ;  the  blot  is  still  in  it,  but  is  not  able  to  discover 


196  SPECTATOR.  NO.    507. 

itself.  This  is  certainly  a  very  great  motive  to 
several  party-otfenders,  who  avoid  crimes,  not  as 
they  are  prejudicial  to  their  virtue,  but  to  their 
reputaliou.  It  is  enough  to  show  the  weakness  of 
this  reason,  which  palliates  guilt  without  removing 
it,  that  every  man  who  is  iiiHuenced  by  it  declares 
himself  in  effect  an  infamous  hypocrite,  prefers  the 
appearance  of  virtue  to  its  reality,  and  is  determined 
in  his  conduct  neither  by  the  dictates  of  his  own 
conscience,  the  suggestions  of  true  honour,  nor  the 
principles  of  religion. 

Tiie  third  and  last  great  motive  for  men's  joining 
in  a  popular  falsehood,  or,  as  I  have  hitherto  called 
it,  a  party  lie,  notwithstanding  they  are  convinced  of 
it  as  such,  is  the  doing  good  to  a  cause  which  every 
party  may  be  supposed  to  look  upon  as  the  most 
meritorious.  The  unsoundness  of  this  principle  has 
been  so  often  exposed,  and  is  so  universally  acknow- 
ledged, that  a  man  must  be  an  utter  stranger  to  the 
principles  either  of  natural  religion  or  Christianity, 
who  sutfers  himself  to  be  guided  by  it.  If  a  man 
might  promote  the  supposed  good  of  his  country  by 
the  blackest  calumnies  and  falsehoods,  our  nation 
abounds  more  in  patriots  than  any  other  of  the 
Christian  world.  When  Pompey  was  desired  not 
to  set  sail  in  a  tempest  that  would  hazard  his  life, 
'It  is  necessary  for  me,'  says  he,  *to  sail,  but  it  is 
not  necessary  for  me  to  live.'  Every  man  should 
say  to  himself,  with  the  same  spirit,  '  It  is  ray  duty 
to  speak  truth,  though  it  is  not  my  duty  to  be  in 
an  office.'  One  of  the  fathers  has  carried  this  point 
so  high  as  to  declare  he  would  not  tell  a  lie,  though 
he  were  sure  to  gain  heaven  by  it.  However  extra- 
vagant such  a  protestation  may  appear,  every  one- 
will  own  that  a  man  may  say,  very  reasonably,  he 
would  not  tell  a  lie,  if  he  were  sure  to  gain  hell  by 


NO.   508.  SPECTATOR.  197 

it ;  or,  if  you  have  a  mind  to  soften  the  expression, 
that  he  would  not  tell  a  lie  to  gain  any  temporal 
reward  by  it,  when  he  should  run  the  hazard  of  los- 
ing much  more  than  it  was  possible  for  him  to  gain. 
O 


No.  508.    MONDAY;  OCTOBER  13,  1712. 


Omnes  autem  et  habentur  et  dicuntui-  tyranni,  qui  potestate  sunt 
perpttua,  in  ea  civitate  quce  libertate  usa  est. 

CORN.    NEPOS  IN  MILT.    C.    8. 

For  all  those  are  accounted  and  denominated  tyrants,  who  ex- 
ercise a  perpetual  power  in  that  state,  which  was  before  free. 

The  following  letters  complain  of  what  I  have 
frequently  observed  with  very  much  indignation  ; 
therefore  shall  give  them  to  the  public  in  the  words 
with  which  my  correspondents,  who  suffer  under  the 
hardships  mentioned  in  them,  describe  them. 

"  MR.    SPECTATOR, 

"  In  former  ages  all  pretensions  to  dominion  have 
been  supported  and  submitted  to,  either  upon  ac- 
count of  inheritance,  conquest,  or  election  ;  and  all 
such  persons,  who  have  taken  upon  them  any  so- 
vereignty over  their  fellow-creatures  upon  any  other 
account,  have  been  always  called  tyrants,  not  so 
much  because  they  were  guilty  of  any  particular 
barbarities,  as  because  every  attempt  to  such  a  supe- 
riority was  in  its  nature  tyrannical.  But  there  is 
another  sort  of  potentates,  who  may  with  greater 


198  SPECTATOR.  NO.    608. 

propriety  be  called  tyrants  than  those  last  mentioned, 
both  as  they  assume  a  despotic  dominion  over  those 
as  free  as  tliemselves,  and  as  tliey  support  it  by  acts 
of  notable  oppression  and  injustice ;  and  these  are 
the  rulers  in  all  clubs  and  meetings.  In  other 
governments,  the  punishments  of  some  have  been 
alleviated  by  the  rewards  of  others  ;  but  what  makes 
the  reign  of  these  potentates  so  particularly  grievous 
is,  that  they  are  exquisite  in  punishing  their  sub- 
jects at  the  same  time  they  have  it  not  in  their  power 
to  reward  them.  That  the  reader  may  the  better 
comprehend  the  nature  of  these  monarchs,  as  well 
as  the  miserable  state  of  those  that  are  their  vassals, 
I  shall  give  an  account  of  the  king  of  the  company 
I  am  fallen  into,  whom,  for  his  particular  tyranny,  I 
shall  call  Dionysius :  as  also  of  the  seeds  that 
sprung  up  to  this  odd  sort  of  empire. 

"  Upon  all  meetings  at  taverns,  it  is  necessary 
some  one  of  the  company  should  take  it  upon  him  to 
get  all  things  in  such  order  and  readiness,  as  may 
contribute  as  mucii  as  possible  to  the  felicity  of  the 
convention  ;  such  as  hastening  tiie  tire,  getting  a 
sufficient  number  of  candles,  tasting  the  wine  with  a 
judicious  smack,  fixing  the  supper,  and  being  brisk 
for  the  despatch  of  it.  Know,  then,  tliat  Dionysius 
went  througli  tliese  offices  with  an  air  that  seemed 
to  express  a  satisfaction  ratiier  in  serving  the  public 
than  in  gratifying  any  particular  inclination  of  his 
own.  We  thought  him  a  person  of  an  exquisite 
palate,  and  therefore  by  consent  beseeched  him  to 
be  always  our  proveditor:  which  post,  after  he  had 
handsomely  denied,  he  could  do  no  otherwise  than 
accept.  At  first,  he  made  no  other  use  of  his  power 
than  in  recommending  such  and  such  tilings  to  the 
compa,ny,  ever  allowing  these  points  to  be  dis- 
putable ;    insomuch  that  I   have  often  carried  the 


NO.   508.  SPECTATOK.  199 

debate  for  partridge,  when  his  Majesty  has  given 
intimation  of  the  high  relish  of  ducli,  but  at  the  same 
time  has  cheerfully  submitted,  and  devoured  his  par- 
tridge with  most  gracious  resignation.  This  sub- 
mission on  his  side  naturally  produced  the  like  on 
ours ;  of  which  he  in  a  little  time  made  such  bar- 
barous advantage,  as  in  all  those  matters,  which  be- 
fore seemed  indifferent  to  him,  to  issue  out  certain 
edicts  as  uncontrollable  and  unalterable  as  the  laws  of 
the  Medes  and  Persians.  He  is  by  turns  outrageous, 
peevish,  forward,  and  jovial.  He  thinks  it  our  duty 
for  the  little  offices,  as  proveditor,  that  in  return  all 
conversation  is  to  be  interrupted  or  promoted  by  his 
inclination  for  or  against  the  present  humour  of  the 
company.  We  feel,  at  present,  in  the  utmost  ex- 
tremity, the  insolence  of  office;  however,  I,  being 
naturally  warm,  ventured  to  oppose  him  in  a  dis- 
pute about  a  haunch  of  venison.  I  was  altogether  for 
roasting,  but  Dionysius  declared  himself  for  boiling, 
with  so  much  prowess  and  resolution,  that  the  cook 
thought  it  necessary  to  consult  his  own  safety,  rather 
than  the  luxury  of  my  proposition.  With  the  same 
authority  that  he  orders  what  we  shall  eat  and  drink, 
he  also  commands  us  where  to  do  it ;  and  we  change 
our  taverns  according  as  he  suspects  any  treasonable 
jDractices  in  the  settling  the  bill  by  the  master,  or 
sees  any  bold  rebellion  in  point  of  attendance  by 
the  waiters.  Another  reason  for  changing  the  seat 
of  empire,  I  conceive  to  be  the  pride  he  takes  in 
the  promulgation  of  our  slavery,  though  we  pay  our 
club  for  our  entertainments,  even  in  these  {)alaces  of 
our  grand  monarch.  When  he  has  a  mind  to  take 
the  air,  a  party  of  us  are  commanded  out  by  way  of 
lifeguard,  and  we  march  under  as  great  restrictions 
as  they  do.  If  we  meet  a  neighbouring  king,  we 
give  or  keep  the  way,  according  as  we  are  outnum- 


200  SPECTATOn.  NO.    508. 

bered  or  not ;  and  if  the  train  of  each  is  eqnal  in 
number,  rather  tlian  give  battle,  the  superiority  is 
soon  adjusted  by  a  desertion  from  one  of  them. 

"  Now,  the  expulsion  of  these  unjust  rulers  out 
of  all  societies  would  gain  a  man  as  everlasting  a 
reputation  as  either  of  the  Brutus's  got  from  their 
endeavours  to  extirpate  tyranny  from  among  tiie 
Romans.  I  confess  myself  to  be  in  a  conspiracy 
against  the  usurper  of  our  club  ;  and  to  show  my 
reading,  as  well  as  ray  merciful  disposition,  shall 
allow  him  till  the  ides  of  March  to  dethrone  iiimself. 
If  he  seems  to  affect  empire  till  that  time,  and  does 
not  gradually  recede  from  the  incursions  he  has 
made  upon  our  liberties,  he  shall  find  a  dinner 
dressed  which  he  has  no  hand  in,  and  shall  be 
treated  with  an  order,  magnificence,  and  luxury,  as 
shall  break  his  proud  heart ;  at  the  same  time  that 
he  shall  be  convinced  in  his  stomach  he  was  unfit 
for  his  post,  and  a  more  mild  and  skilful  prince  re- 
ceive the  acclamations  of  the  people,  and  be  set  up 
in  his  room  ;  but,  as  Milton  says, 

— These  thoughts 
Full  counsel  must  mature.     Peace  is  despair'd, 
And  who  can  think  submission  ?     War  then,  war. 
Open,  or  understood,  must  be  resolved.         p.  l.  i.  659. 

"  I  am  Sir, 
"  Your  most  obedient  humble  servant." 

"  MR.    SPECTATOR, 

"  I  am  a  young  woman  at  a  gentleman's  seat  in 
the  country,  who  is  a  particular  friend  of  my  father's, 
and  came  hither  to  pass  away  a  month  or  two  with 
his  daughters.  I  have  been  entertained  with  the 
utmost  civility  by  the  whole  family,  and  nothing  has 
been  omitted  which  can  make  my  stay  easy  and 


NO.    508.  SPECTATOR.  201 

agreeable  on  the  part  of  the  family ;  but  there  is  a 
gentleman  here,  a  visitant,  as  I  am,  whose  behaviour 
has  given  me  great  uneasiness.  When  I  first  ar- 
rived here,  he  used  me  with  the  utmo^st  complai- 
sance ;  but,  forsooth,  that  was  not  with  regard  to  my 
sex ;  and,  since  he  has  no  designs  upon  me,  he  does 
not  know  why  he  should  distinguish  me  from  a  man 
in  things  indifferent.  He  is,  you  must  know,  one 
of  those  familiar  coxcombs,  who  have  observed  some 
well-bred  men  with  a  good  grace  converse  with  wo- 
men, and  say  no  fine  things,  but  yet  treat  them  with 
that  sort  of  respect  which  flows  from  the  heart  and 
the  understanding,  but  is  exerted  in  no  professions 
or  comjjliraents.  This  puppy,  to  imitate  this  ex- 
cellence, or  avoid  the  contrary  fault  of  being  trou- 
blesome in  complaisance,  takes  upon  him  to  try  his 
talent  upon  me,  insomuch  that  he  contradicts  me 
upon  all  occasions,  and  one  day  told  me  I  lied.  If 
I  had  struck  him  with  my  bodkin,  and  behaved 
myself  like  a  man,  since  he  will  not  treat  me  as  a 
woman,  I  had,  I  think,  served  him  right.  I  wish, 
Sir,  you  would  please  to  give  him  some  maxims  of 
behaviour  in  these  points,  and  resolve  me  if  all 
maids  are  not  in  point  of  conversation  to  be  treated 
by  all  bachelors  as  their  mistresses  ?  If  not  so,  are 
they  not  to  be  used  as  gently  as  their  sisters  ?  Is  it 
sufferable  that  the  fop  of  whom  I  complain  -should 
say  that  he  would  rather  have  such-a-one  without 
a  groat,  than  me  with  the  Indies  ?  What  right  has 
anj'  man  to  make  suppositions  of  things  not  iu  his 
power,  and  then  declare  his  will  to  the  dislike  of 
one  that  has  never  offended  him  ?  I  assure  you 
these  are  things  worthy  your  consideration,  and  I 
hope  we  shall  have  your  thoughts  upon  them.  I 
am,  though  a  woman  justly  offended,  ready  to  for- 
give all  this,  because  I  have  no  remedy  but  leaving 


202  SPECTATOlt. 


NO.   609. 


very  agreeable  company  sooner  than  I  desire.  Tliis 
also  is  a  heinous  aggravation  of  his  offence,  that  he 
is  inflicting  banishment  upon  me.  Your  printing 
this  letter  may  perha[)s  be  an  admonition  to  reform 
him  :  as  soon  as  it  appears,  1  will  write  ray  name  at 
the  end  of  it,  and  lay  it  in  his  way  ;  the  making 
which  just  reprimand,  I  hope  you  will  put  in  the 
power  of, 

'•  Sir, 
'*  Your  constant  reader, 

"•  and  humble  servant." 


No.  509.     TUESDAY,  OCTOBER  U,  1712. 


Hominis  frugi  et  temperantis  functus  officium. 

TER.   HEAUT.   ACT.    ui.   SC.   3.    19. 

Discharging  the  part  of  a  good  economist. 

The  useful  knowledge  in  the  following  letter  shall 
have  a  place  in  ray  paper,  though  there  is  nothing 
in  it  which  immediately  regards  the  polite  or  the 
learned  world;  I  say  immediately,  for  upon  reflec- 
tion every  man  will  find  there  is  a  remote  influence 
upon  his  own  affairs,  in  the  prosperity  or  decay  of 
the  trading  part  of  mankind.  My  present  corre- 
spondent, I  believe,  was  never  in  print  before  ;  but 
what  he  says  well  deserves  a  general  attention, 
though  delivered  in  his  own  homely  raaxims,  and  a 
kind  of  proverbial  simplicity;  which  sort  of  learning 
has  raised  more  estates,  than  ever  were,  or  will  be, 


NO.    509.  SPECTATOR.  203 

from  attention  to  Virgil,  Horace,  Tully,  Seneca, 
Plutarch,  or  any  of  the  rest,  whom,  I  dare  say, 
this  worthy  citizen  would  hold  to  be  indeed  in- 
genious, but  unprofitable  writers.    But  to  the  letter. 

"  MR.   WILLIAM    SPECTATOR, 
"  SIR, 

"  I  accuse  you  of  many  discourses  on  tlie  subject 
of  money,  which  you  have  heretofore  promised  the 
public,  but  have  not  discharged  yourself  thereof. 
But,  forasmuch  as  you  seemed  to  depend  upon  ad- 
vice from  others  what  to  do  in  that  point,  have  sat 
down  to  write  you  the  needful  upon  that  subject. 
But,  before  I  enter  thereupon,  I  shall  take  this  op- 
portunity to  observe  to  you,  that  the  thriving  frugal 
man  shows  it  in  every  part  of  his  expense,  dress, 
servants,  and  house ;  and  I  nmst,  in  the  first  place, 
complain  to  you,  as  Spectator,  that  in  these  parti- 
culars there  is  at  this  time,  throughout  the  city  of 
London,  a  lamentable  change  from  that  simplicity 
of  manners,  which  is  the  true  source  of  wealth  and 
prosperity.  I  just  now  said,  the  man  of  thrift  shows 
regularity  in  every  thing ;  but  you  may,  perhaps, 
laugh  that  I  take  notice  of  such  a  particular  as  I  am 
going  to  do,  for  an  instance  that  this  city  is  declin- 
ing if  their  ancient  economy  is  not  restored.  The 
thing  which  gives  me  this  prospect,  and  so  much 
offence,  is  the  neglect  of  the  Royal  Exchange.  I 
mean  the  edifice  so  called,  and  the  walks  appertain- 
ing thereunto.  The  Royal  Exchange  is  a  fabric 
that  well  deserves  to  be  so  called,  as  well  to  express 
that  our  monarch's  highest  glory  and  advantage 
consists  in  being  the  patrons  of  trade,  as  that  it  is 
commodious  for  business,  and  an  instance  of  the 
grandeur  both  of  prince  and  people.     But,  alas  !  at 


204  SPKCTATOU.  NO.    509. 

present  it  hardly  seems  to  be  set  apart  for  any  such 
use  or  purpose.  Instead  of  the  assembly  of  honour- 
able merchants,  substantial  tradesmen,  and  knowing 
masters  of  ships ;  the  mumpers,  the  halt,  the  blind, 
and  the  lame  ;  your  venders  of  trash,  apples,  plums  ; 
your  rag^^arauffins,  rakeshames, and  wenches;  have 
jostled  the  greater  number  of  the  former  out  of  that 
place.  Thus  it  is,  especially  on  the  evening  change  ; 
so  that  what  with  the  din  of  squallings,  oaths,  and 
cries  of  beggars,  men  of  greatest  consequence  in 
our  city  absent  themselves  from  the  place.  This 
particular,  by  the  way,  is  of  evil  consequence,  for, 
if  the  Change  be  no  place  for  men  of  the  highest 
credit  to  frequent,  it  will  not  be  a  disgrace  for  those 
of  less  abilities  to  absent.  I  remember  the  time 
when  rascally  company  were  kept  out,  and  the  un- 
lucky boys  with  toys  and  balls  were  whipped  away 
by  a  beadle.  I  have  seen  this  done  indeed  of  late, 
but  then  it  has  been  only  to  chase  the  lads  from 
chuck,  that  the  beadle  might  seize  their  copper. 

"  I  must  repeat  the  abomination,  that  the  walnut- 
trade  is  carried  on  by  old  women  within  the  walks, 
which  makes  the  place  impassable  by  reason  of  shells 
and  trash.  The  benches  around  are  so  filthy,  that 
no  one  can  sit  down,  yet  the  beadles  and  officers 
have  the  impudence  at  Christmas  to  ask  for  their 
box,  though  they  deserve  the  strapado.  I  do  not 
think  it  impertinent  to  have  mentioned  this,  because 
it  speaks  a  neglect  in  the  domestic  care  of  the  city, 
and  the  domestic  is  the  truest  picture  of  a  man 
everywhere  else. 

"  But  I  designed  to  speak  on  the  business  of 
money  and  advancement  of  gain.  The  man  proper 
for  this,  speaking  in  the  general,  is  of  a  sedate,  plain, 
good  understanding,  not  apt  to  go  out  of  his  way, 
but  so  behaving  himself  at  home,  that  business  may 


NO.    509.  SPECTATOR.  205 

come  to  him.  Sir  William  Turner,  that  valuable 
citizen,  has  left  behind  him  a  most  excellent  rule, 
and  couched  it  in  very  few  words,  suited  to  the 
meanest  capacity.  He  would  say,  '  Keep  your  shop, 
and  your  shop  will  keep  you.'  *  It  must  be  con- 
fessed, that  if  a  man  of  a  great  genius  could  add 
steadiness  to  his  vivacities,  or  substitute  slower  men 
of  fidelity  to  transact  the  methodical  part  of  his  af- 
fairs, such  an  one  would  outstrip  the  rest  of  the 
world ;  but  business  and  trade  are  not  to  be  ma- 
naged by  the  same  heads  which  write  poetry,  and 
make  plans  for  the  conduct  of  life  in  general.  So, 
though  we  are  at  this  day  beholden  to  the  late  witty 
and  inventive  Duke  of  Buckingham  for  the  whole 
trade  and  manufacture  of  glass,  yet  I  suppose  there 
is  no  one  will  aver,  that,  were  his  Grace  yet  living, 
they  would  not  rather  deal  with  my  diligent  friend 
and  neighbour,  Mr.  Gamely,  for  any  goods  to  be 
prepared  and  delivered  on  such  a  day,  than  he 
would  with  that  illustrious  mechanic  above  men- 
tioned. 

"  No,  no,  Mr.  Spectator,  you  wits  must  not  pre- 
tend to  be  rich ;  and  it  is  possible  the  reason  may 
be,  in  some  measure,  because  you  despise,  or  at 
least  you  do  not  value  it  enough  to  let  it  take  up 
your  chief  attention ;  which  a  trader  must  do,  or 
lose  his  credit,  which  is  to  him  what  honour,  repu- 
tation, fame,  or  glory,  is  to  other  sort  of  men. 

"  I  shall  not  speak  to  the  point  of  cash  itself,  till 
I  see  how  you  approve  of  these  my  maxims  in  ge- 
neral; but  I. think  a  speculation  upon  '  many  a  little 
makes  a  mickle,  a  penny  saved  is  a  penny  got,  penny 
wise  and  pound  foolish,  it   is   need   that  makes  the 


*  Alderman  Thomas,  a  mercer,  made  this  one  of  the  mottoes 
in  his  shop  in  Paternoster-row. 


20(;  SPECTATOR.  NO.    509. 

old  wife  trot,'  would  be  very  useful  to  the  world  ; 
and,  if  yon  treated  them  with  knowledge,  wonld  be 
useful  to' yourself,  for  it  wonld  make  demands  for 
your  paper  amonn;  those  who  have  no  notion  of  it  at 
present.  lint  of  these;  matters  more  hereafter.  If 
^'ou  did  this,  as  yon  excel  many  writers  of  the  pre- 
sent age  for  politeness,  so  you  would  outgo  the 
author  of  the  true  strops  of  razors  for  use. 

"I  shall  conclude  tliis  discourse  with  an  explana- 
tion of  a  proverb,  which  by  vulgar  error  is  taken 
and  used  when  a  man  is  reduced  to  an  extremity, 
whereas  the  propriety  of  the  maxim  is  to  use  it  when 
you  would  say  there  is  plenty,  but  you  must  make 
such  a  choice  as  not  to  hurt  another  who  is  to  come 
after  you. 

"  Mr.  Tobias  Hobson,  from  whom  we  have  the 
expression,  was  a  very  honourable  man,  for  I  shall 
ever  call  the  man  so  who  gets  an  estate  honestly. 
Mr.  Tobias  Hobson  was  a  carrier  ;  and,  being  a  man 
of  great  abilities  and  invention,  and  one  that  saw 
where  there  might  good  profit  arise,  though  the 
duller  men  overlooked  it,  this  ingenious  man  was 
the  first  in  this  island  wlio  let  out  hackney-horses. 
He  lived  in  Cambridge;  and,  observing  that  the 
scholars  rid  hard,  his  manner  was  to  keep  a  large 
stable  of  horses,  with  boots,  bridles,  and  whips,  to 
furnish  the  gentlemen  at  once,  without  going  from 
college  to  college  to  borrow,  as  they  have  done  since 
the  death  of  this  worthy  man.  I  say,  Mr.  Hobson 
ke|)t  a  stable  of  forty  good  cattle  always  ready  and 
fit  for  travelling;  but,  when  a  man  came  foraliorse, 
he  was  led  into  the  stable,  where  there  was  great 
choice ;  but  he  obliged  him  to  take  the  horse  which 
stood  next  to  the  stable-door  ;  so  that  every  customer 
was  alike  well  served  according  to  his  chance,  and 
every   horse    ridden    wiih    tin-   same  justice;    from 


NO.    510.  SPECTATOR.  207 

whence  it  became  a  proverb,  when  what  ought  to 
be  your  election  was  forced  upon  you,  to  say,  '  Hob- 
son's  choice.'  This  memorable  man  stands  drawn 
in  fresco  at  an  inn,  which  he  used,  in  Bishopsgate- 
street,  with  a  hundred  pound  bag  under  his  arm, 
with  this  inscription  upon  the  said  bag : 

'  The  fruitful  mother  of  a  hundred  more.' 

"  Whatever  tradesman  will  try  the  experiment, 
and  begin,  the  day  after  you  publish  this  my  dis- 
course, to  treat  his  customers  all  alike,  and  all  I'ea- 
sonably  and  honestly,  1  will  ensure  him  the  same 
success. 

"  I  am.  Sir, 

"  Your  loving  friend, 

"Hezekiah  Thrift." 
"Broad-street,  October  10,  1712." 


No.  510.     WEDNESDAY,  OCTOBER  15,  1712. 


— Si  sapis, 
Neque,  prceierquam  quas  ipse  amor  mukstias 
SaOei,  addas  ;  et  illas,  quas  habet,  recte  J'eras. 

TER.    EUN.   ACT.  i.  SC.  1.  31. 

If  you  are  wise,  add  not  to  the  troubles  which  attend  the  j)assion 
of  love,  and  bear  patiently  those  which  are  inseparable  from  it. 

I  WAS  the  other  day  driving  in  a  hack  through 
Gerrard-street,  when  my  eye  was  immediately 
catched  with  the  prettiest  object  imaginable, — the 


208  SPKCTATOR.  NO.   510. 

face  of  a  very  fair  girl,  between  thirteen  and  four- 
teen, fixed  at  the  chin  to  a  painted  sash,  and  made 
part  of  the  landscape.  It  seemed  admirably  done, 
and,  upon  throwing  myself  eagerly  out  of  the  coach 
to  look  at  it,  it  laughed,  and  Hung  from  the  window. 
This  amiable  figure  dwelt  upon  me  ;  and  1  was  con- 
sidering the  vanity  of  the  girl,  and  her  pleasant  co- 
quetry in  acting  a  picture  till  she  was  taken  notice 
of,  and  raised  the  admiration  of  her  beholders.  This 
little  circumstance  made  me  run  into  reflections  upon 
the  force  of  beauty,  and  the  wonderful  influence  the 
female  sex  has  upon  the  other  part  of  the  species. 
Our  hearts  are  seized  with  their  enchantments,  and 
there  are  few  of  us,  but  brutal  men,  who  by  that 
hardness  lose  the  chief  pleasure  in  them,  can  resist 
their  insinuations,  though  never  so  much  against 
our  interest  and  opinion.  It  is  common  with  women 
to  destroy  the  good  effects  a  man's  following  his  own 
way  and  inclination  might  have  upon  his  honour 
and  fortune,  by  interposing  their  power  over  him  in 
matters  wherein  they  cannot  influence  him,  but  to 
his  loss  and  disparagement.  I  do  not  know,  there- 
fore, a  task  so  difficult  in  human  life,  as  to  be  proof 
against  the  importunities  of  a  woman  a  man  loves. 
There  is  certainly  no  amour  against  tears,  sullen 
looks,  or  at  best  constrained  familiarities,  in  her 
whom  you  usually  meet  with  transport  and  alacrity. 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh  was  quoted  in  a  letter  of  a  very 
ingenious  correspondent  of  mine,  on  this  subject. 
That  author,  who  had  lived  in  courts,  camps,  tra- 
velled through  many  countries,  and  seen  many  men 
under  several  climates,  and  of  as  various  complexions, 
speaks  of  our  impotence  to  resist  the  wiles  of  women 
in  very  severe  terras.     His  words  are  as  follow : 

'  What  means  did  the  devil  find  out,  or  what  in- 


NO.   510.  SPECTATOR.  •  209 

struments  did  his  own  subtilty  present  him,  as  fit- 
test and  aptest  to  work  his  mischief  by  ?  Even 
the  unquiet  vanity  of  the  woman  ;  so  as  by  Adam's 
hearkening  to  the  voice  of  his  wife,  contrary  to  the 
express  commandment  of  the  Hving  God,  mankind 
by  that  her  incantation  became  the  subject  of  la- 
bour, sorrow,  and  death :  the  woman  being  given 
to  man  for  a  comforter  and  companion,  but  not  for 
a  counsellor.  It  is  also  to  be  noted  by  whom  the 
woman  was  tempted  :  even  by  the  most  ugly  and  '. 
unworthy  of  all  beasts,  into  whom  the  devil  entered 
and  persuaded.  Secondly,  What  was  the  motive 
of  her  disobedience  ?  Even  a  desire  to  know  what 
was  most  unfitting  her  knowledge ;  an  affection 
which  has  ever  since  remained  in  all  the  posterity 
of  her  sex.  Thirdly,  What  was  it  that  moved  the 
man  to  yield  to  her  persuasions  ?  Even  the  sam^ 
cause  which  hath  moved  all  men  since  to  the  like 
consent,  namely,  an  unwillingness  to  grieve  her,  or 
make  her  sad,  lest  she  should  pine,  and  be  over- 
come with  sorrow.  But  if  Adam,  in  the  state  of 
perfection,  and  Solomon  the  son  of  David,  God's 
chosen  servant,  and  himself  a  man  endued  with 
the  greatest  wisdom,  did  both  of  them  disobey  their 
Creator  by  the  persuasion,  and  for  the  love  they 
bare  to  a  woman,  it  is  not  so  wonderful  as  lamenta- 
ble, that  other  men  in  succeeding  ages  have  been 
allured  to  so  many  inconvenient  and  wicked  prac- 
tices by  the  persuasions  of  their  wives,  or  other  be- 
loved darlings,  who  cover  over  and  shadow  many 
malicious  purposes  with  a  counterfeit  passion  of 
dissimulate  sorrow  and  unquietness.' 

The  motions  of  the  minds  of  lovers  are  nowhere 
so  well  described  as  in  the  works  of  skilful  writers 
for  the  stage.     The  scene  between  Fulvia  and  Cu- 

VOL.   XI.  14 


210  SPECTATOR.  NO.   610. 

rius,  in  the  second  act  of  Jonson's  Catiline,  is  an 
excellent  picture  of  the  power  of  a  lady  over  her 
gallant.  The  wench  plays  with  his  affections  ;  and 
as  a  man,  of  all  places  of  the  world,  wishes  to  make 
a  good  figure  with  his  mistress,  upon  her  upbraid- 
ing him  with  want  of  spirit,  he  alludes  to  enter- 
prises which  he  cannot  reveal  but  with  the  hazard 
of  his  life.  When  he  is  worked  thus  far,  with  a 
little  flattery  of  her  opinion  of  his  gallantry,  and 
desire  to  know  more  of  it  out  of  her  overflowing 
fondness  to  him,  he  brags  to  her  till  his  life  is  in 
her  disposal. 

Wiien  a  man  is  thus  liable  to  be  vanquished  by 
the  charms  of  her  he  loves,  the  safest  way  is  to 
determine  what  is  proper  to  be  done  ;  but  to  avoid 
all  expostulation  with  her  before  he  executes  what 
he  has  resolved.  Women  are  ever  too  hard  for  us 
upon  a  treaty ;  and  one  must  consider  how  sense- 
less a  thing  it  is  to  argue  with  one  whose  looks  and 
gestures  are  more  prevalent  with  you,  than  your 
reason  and  arguments  can  be  with  her.  It  is  a 
most  miserable  slavery  to  submit  to  what  you  dis- 
a[)prove,  and  give  up  a  truth  for  no  other  reason, 
but  that  you  had  not  fortitude  to  support  you  in  as- 
serting- it.  A  man  has  enough  to  do  to  conquer 
his  own  unreasonable  wishes  and  desires  ;  but  he 
does  that  in  vain,  if  he  has  those  of  another  to 
gratify.  Let  his  pride  be  in  his  wife  and  family, 
let  him  give  them  all  the  conveniences  of  life  in 
such  a  manner  as  if  he  were  proud  of  them  ;  but  let 
it  be  his  own  innocent  pride,  and  not  their  exorbi- 
tant desires,  which  are  indulged  by  him.  In  this 
case  all  the  little  arts  imaginable  are  used  to  soften 
a  man's  heart,  and  raise  his  passion  above  his  un- 
derstanding. But  in  all  concessions  of  this  kind,  a 
man  should  consider  whether  the  present  he  makes 


NO.    510.  SPECTATOR.  211 

flows  from  his  own  love,  or  the  importunity  of  his 
beloved.  If  from  the  latter,  he  is  her  slave — if  from 
the  former,  her.  friend.  We  laugh  it  off,  and  do  not 
weigh  this  subjection  to  women  with  that  serious- 
ness which  so  important  a  circumstance  deserves. 
Why  w^as  courage  given  to  man,  if  his  wife's  fears 
are  to  frustrate  it?  When  this  is  once  indulged, 
you  are  no  longer  her  guardian  and  protector,  as 
you  were  designed  by  nature  ;  but,  in  compliance  to 
her  weaknesses,  you  have  disabled  yourself  from 
avoiding  the  misfortunes  into  which  they  will  lead 
you  both,  and  you  are  to  see  the  hour  in  which  you 
are  to  be  reproached  by  herself  for  that  very  com- 
plaisance to  her.  It  is,  indeed,  the  most  difficult 
mastery  over  ourselves  we  can  possibly  attain,  to 
resist  the  grief  of  her  who  charms  us  ;  but  let  the 
heart  ache,  be  the  anguish  never  so  quick  and  pain- 
ful ;  it  is  what  must  be  suffered  and  passed  through, 
if  you  think  to  live  like  a  gentleman,  or  be  conscious 
to  yourself  that  you  are  a  man  of  honesty.  The  old 
argument,  that  '  you  do  not  love  me  if  you  deny  me 
this,'  which  first  was  used  to  obtain  a  trifle,  by  ha- 
bitual success  will  oblige  the  unhappy  man  who 
gives  way  to  it,  to  resign  the  cause  even  of  his 
country  and  his  honour. 

T 


212  Sl'ECTATOU.  NO.    611. 


No.  511.     THURSDAY,  OCTOBER  16,  1712. 


Quis  non  iiivenU  turbd  quod  amaret  in  ilia  ? 

OVID.   ARS  AM.  i.  175. 

— Who  could  fail  to  find. 
In  such  a  crowd,  a  mistress  to  his  mind  ? 

"  DEAR    SPEC, 

"  Finding  that  my  last  letter  took,  I  do  intend  to 
continue  ray  epistolary  correspondence  with  thee, 
on  tliose  dear  confounded  creatures,  women.  Thou 
knowest  all  the  little  learning  I  am  master  of  is  upon 
that  subject ;  I  never  looked  in  a  book,  but  for  their 
sakes.  1  have  lately  met  with  two  pure  stories  for 
a  Spectator,  which  I  am  sure  will  please  mightily, 
if  they  pass  through  thy  luuids.  The  first  of  them 
I  found  by  cliance  in  an  English  book,  called  He- 
rodotus, tluit  lay  in  my  friend  Dapperwit's  window, 
as  I  visited  him  one  morning.  It  luckily  opened  in 
the  place  where  I  met  with  the  following  account. 
He  tells  us  that  it  was  the  manner  among  the  Per- 
sians to  liave  several  fairs  in  the  kingdom,  at  which 
all  the  young  unmarried  women  were  annually  ex- 
posed to  sale.  The  men  who  wanted  wives  came 
hither  to  provide  themselves.  Every  woman  was 
given  to  the  highest  bidder,  and  the  money  which 
she  fetched  laid  aside  for  tlie  public  use,  to  be  em- 
ployed as  thou  shalt  hear  by  and  by.  By  this  means 
the  ricliest  people  had  the  choice  of  the  market, 
andvclilled  out  the  most  extraordinary  beauties.  As 
soon  as  the  fair  wasj;hus  picked,  the  refuse  was  to 


NO.  511.  SPKCTATOR.  213 

be  distributed  among  the  poor,  and  among  tIio?e 
who  could  not  go  to  the  price  of  a  beauty.  Several 
of  these  married  the  agreeables,  without  paying  a 
farthing  for  them,  unless  somebody  chanced  to  think 
it  worth  his  while  to  bid  for  them,  in  which  case  the 
best  bidder  was  always  the  purchaser.  But  now 
you  must  know,  Spec,  it  happened  in  Persia,  as.it 
does  in  our  own  country,  that  there  were  as  many 
ugly  women  as  beauties  or  agreeables ;  so  that  by 
consequence,  after  the  magistrates  had  put  off  a 
great  many,  there  were  still  a  great  many  that  stuck 
upon  their  hands.  In  order,  therefore,  to  clear  the 
market,  the  money  which  the  beauties  had  sold  for 
was  disposed  of  among  the  ugly  ;  so  that  a  poor  man, 
who  could  not  afford  to  have  a  beauty  for  his  wife, 
was  foi'ced  to  take  up  with  a  fortune  ;  the  greatest 
portion  being  always  given  to  the  most  deformed. 
To  this  the  author  adds,  that  every  poor  man  was 
forced  to  live  kindly  with  his  wife,  or,  in  case  he 
repented  of  his  bargain,  to  return  her  portion  with 
her  to  the  next  public  sale. 

"  What  I  would  recommend  to  thee  on  this  occa- 
sion is,  to  establish  such  an  imaginary  fair  in  Great 
Britain ;  thou  couldst  make  it  very  pleasant  by  match- 
ing women  of  quality  with  cobblers  and  carmen,  or 
describing  titles  and  garters  leading  off  in  great  cere- 
mony shopkeepers'  and  farmers'  daughters.  Though, 
to  tell  thee  the  truth,  I  am  confoundedly  afraid, 
that  as  the  love  af  money  prevails  in  our  island  more 
than  it  did  in  Persia,  we  should  -find  that  some  of 
our  greatest  men  would  choose  out  the  portions,  and 
rival  one  another  for  the  richest  piece  of  deformity  ; 
and  that,  on  the  contrary,  the  toast  and  belles  would 
be  bought  up  by  extravagant  heirs,  gamesters,  and 
spendthrifts.  Thou  couldst  make  very  pretty  reflec- 
".ions  upon  this  occasion  in  honour  of  the  Persian 


214  SPKCTATOR.  NO.    511. 

politics,  who  took  care,  by  such  marriages,  to  beau- 
tify th(!  u[)iter  part  of  the  species,  and  to  make  the 
greatest  persons  in  the  government  the  most  grace- 
ful.     But  this  I  shall  leave  to  thy  judicious  pen. 

"  I  have  another  story  to  tell  thee,  which  I  like- 
wise met  with  in  a  book.  It  tieems  the  general  of 
the  Tartars,  after  having  laid  siege  to  a  strong  town 
in  China,  and  taken  it  by  storm,  would  set  to  sale 
all  the  women  that  were  found  in  it.  Accordingly, 
he  put  each  of  them  into  a  sack,  and,  after  having 
thorougidy  considered  the  value  of  the  woman  who 
was  inclosed,  marked  the  price  that  was  demanded 
for  her  upon  the  sack.  There  were  a  great  con- 
fluence of  chapmen,  that  resorted  from  every  part, 
witli  a  design  to  purchase,  which  they  were  to  do 
•  unsight  unseen.'  Tlie  book  mentions  a  merchant 
in  particular,  who  observing  one  of  the  sacks  to  be 
marked  pretty  high,  bargained  for  it,  and  carried  it 
otF  with  him  to  his  house.  As  he  was  resting  with 
it  upon  a  halfway  bridge,  lie  was  resolved  to  take 
a  survey  of  Ins  purcliase ;  upon  opening  the  sack, 
a  littK;  old  woman  jjopped  her  head  out  of  it ;  at 
which  the  adventurer  was  in  so  great  a  rage,  that 
he  was  going  to  shoot  her  out  into  the  river.  The 
old  lady,  however,  begged  him  first  of  all  to  hear 
her  story,  by  which  he  learned  that  site  was  sister 
to  a  great  mandarin,  who  would  infallibly  make  the 
fortune  of  his  brother-in-law  as  soon  as  he  should 
know  to  vvhose  lot  she  fell.  Upon  which  the 
merchant  again  tied  her  up  in  his  sack,  and  carried 
her  to  his  house,  where  she  proved  an  excellent 
wife,  and  procured  him  all  the  riches  from  her 
brother  that  she  had  promised  him. 

"I  fancy,  if  I  was  disposed  to  dream  a  second 
time,  I  could  make  a  tolerable  vision  upon  this  plan. 
I  would  suppose  all  the  unmarried  women  in  Lon- 


NO.    511. 


SPECTATOR.  215 


don  and  Westminster  brought  to  market  in  sacks, 
with  their  respective  prices  on  each  sack.  The  first 
sack  that  is  sold  is  marked  with  five  thousand  pound. 
Upon  the  opening  of  it,  I  find  it  filled  with  an  admi- 
rable housewife,  of  an  agreeable  countenance.  The 
purchaser,  upon  hearing  her  good  qualities,  pays 
down  her  price  very  cheerfully.  The  second  I 
would  open  should  be  a  five  hundred  pound  sack. 
The  lady  in  it,  to  our  surprise,  has  the  face  and 
person  of  a  toast.  As  we  are  wondering  how  she 
came  to  be  set  at  so  low  a  price,  we  hear  that  shie 
would  have  been  valued  at  ten  thousand  pound,  but 
that  the  public  had  made  those  abatements  for  her 
being  a  scold.  I  would  afterwards  find  some  beau- 
tiful, modest,  and  discreet  woman,  that  should  be  the 
top  of  the  market ;  and  perhaps  discover  half  a  dozen 
romps  tied  up  together  in  the  same  sack,  at  one 
hundred  pound  a  head.  The  prude  and  the  coquette 
should  be  valued  at  the  same  price,  though  the  first 
should  go  off  the  better  of  the  two.  _  I  fancy  thou 
wouldst  like  sruch  a  vision,  had  I  time  to  finish  it; 
because,  to  talk  in  thy  own  way,  there  is  a  moral  in 
it.  Whatever  thou  mayest  think  of  it,  pr'ythee  do 
not  make  any  of  thy  queer  apologies  for  this  letter, 
as  thou  didst  for  my  last.  The  women  love  a  gay 
lively  fellow,  and  are  never  angry  at  the  railleries 
of  one  who  is  their  known  admirer.  I  am  always 
bitter  upon  them,  but  well  with  them. 

"  Thine, 
Q  "  Honeycomb." 


21  n  srF.CTATon.  no.  512. 


No.  512.    FRIDAY,  OCTOBER  17,  1712. 


Lectorem  delectando,  pariterque  monendo. 

HOK.    AKS  POET.    343. 

Mixing  together  profit  and  deliglit. 

There  is  nothing  which  we  receive  with  so  much 
reluctance  as  advice.  AVe  look  upon  the  man  who 
gives  it  us  as  offering  an  affront  to  our  understand- 
ing, and  treating  us  like  children  or  idiots.  We  con- 
sider the  instruction  as  an  implicit  censure,  and  the 
zeal  wiiicli  any  one  shows  for  our  good  on  such  an 
occasion,  as  a  piece  of  presumption  or  impertinence. 
The  truth  of  it  is,  the  person  who  pretends  to  ad- 
vise, does,  in  that  particular,  exercise  a  superiority- 
over  us,  and  can  have  no  other  reason  for  it,  but 
that,  in  comparing  us  with  himself,  he  thinks  us  de- 
fective either  in  our  conduct  or  our  understanding. 
For  these  reasons,  there  is  nothing  so  difficult  as  the 
art  of  making  advice  agreeable  ;  and  indeed  all  the 
writers,  both  ancient  and  modern,  have  distinguished 
themselves  among  one  another,  according  to  the  per- 
fection at  which  they  have  arrived  in  this  art.  How 
many  devices  have  been  made  use  of,  to  render  this, 
bitter  portion  i)alatable  !  Some  convey  their  in- 
structions to  us  in  tlie  best  chosen  words,  others  in 
the  most  harmonious  numbers ;  some  in  points  of 
wit,  and  others  in  short  proverbs. 

But,  among  ail  tlie  different  ways  of  giving  coun- 
sel, I  tiiink  the  finest,  and  that  which  pleases  the 
most  universally,  is  fable,  in  whatsoever  shape  it  ap- 


NO.  512.  SPECTATOR.  217 

pears.  If  we  consider  this  way  of  instructing  or 
giving  advice,  it  excels  all  others,  because  it  is  the 
least  shocking,  and  the  least  subject  to  those  excep- 
tions which  I  have  before  mentioned. 

This  will  appear  to  us,  if  we  reflect,  in  the  first 
place,  that  upon  the  reading  of  a  fable  we  are  made 
to  believe  we  advise  ourselves.  We  peruse  the  au- 
thor for  the  sake  of  the  story,  and  consider  the  pre- 
cepts rather  as  our  own  conclusions  than  his  instruc- 
tions. The  moral  insinuates  itself  imperceptibly  ; 
we  are  taught  by  surprise,  and  become  wiser  and 
better  unawares.  In  short,  by  this  method,  a  man  is 
so  far  overreached  as  to  think  he  is  directing  him- 
self, whilst  he  is  following  the  dictates  of  another, 
and  consequently  is  not  sensible  of  that  which  is  the 
most  unpleasing  circumstance  in  advice. 

In  the  next  place,  if  we  look  into  human  nature, 
we  shall  find  that  the  mind  is  never  so  much  pleased, 
as  when  she  exerts  herself  in  any  action  that  gives 
her  an  idea  of  her  own  perfections  and  abilities. 
This  natural  pride  and  ambition  of  the  soul  is  very 
much  gratified  in  the  reading  of  a  fable ;  for,  in 
writings  of  this  kind,  the  reader  comes  in  for  half 
of  the  performance  ;  every  thing  appears  to  him  like 
a  discovery  of  his  own ;  he  is  busied  all  the  while  in 
applying  characters  and  circumstances,  and  is  in 
this  respect  both  a  reader  and  a  composer.  It  is  no 
wonder,  therefore,  that  on  such  occasions,  when  the 
mind  is  thus  pleased  with  itself,  and  amused  with 
its  own  discoveries,  it  is  highly  delighted  with  the 
writing  which  is  the  occasion  of  it.  For  this  reason 
the  Absalom  and  Achitophel  *  was  one  of  the  most 

*  A  memorable  satire,  written  by  Dryden  against  the  faction 
which,  by  Lord  Shaftesbury's  incitemeMt,  set  the  Duke  of  Mon- 
mouth at  their  head.  Of  this  poem,  in  which  personal  satire  is 
applied  to  the  support  of  public  principles,  the  sale  was  so  large, 


218  SPECTATOR.  NO.   512. 

popular  poems  that  ever  appeared  in  English.  The 
poetry  is  indeed  very  tine ;  but  had  it  been  much 
liner,  it  would  not  have  so  much  pleased,  without  a 
plan  which  gave  the  reader  an  opportunity  of 
exerting  his  own  talents. 

Tliis  oblique  manner  of  giving  advice  is  so  in- 
offensive, that,  if  we  look  into  ancient  histories,  we 
find  the  wise  men  of  old  very  often  chose  to  give 
counsel  to  their  kings  in  fables.  To  omit  many 
which  will  occur  to  every  one's  memory,  there  is  a 
pretty  instance  of  this  nature  in  a  Turkish  tale, 
which  I  do  not  like  the  worse  for  that  little  oriental 
extravagance  which  is  mixed  with  it. 

We  are  told  that  the  Sultan  Mahmoud,  by  his 
perpetual  wars  abroad  and  his  tyranny  at  hora^, 
had  filled  his  dominions  with  ruin  and  desolation, 
and  half  unpeopled  the  Persian  empire.  The  vizier 
to  this  great  Sultan,  whether  an  humourist  or  an 
enthusiast,  we  are  not  inforjned,  pretended  to  have 
learned  of  a  certain  dervise  to  understand  the  lan- 
guage of  birds,  so  that  there  was  not  a  bird  that 
could  open  his  mouth  but  the  vizier  knew  what  it 
was  he  said.  As  he  was  one  evening  with  the  em- 
peror, in  their  return  from  hunting,  they  saw  a 
couple  of  owls  near  a  tree  that  grew  near  an  old 
wall  out  of  a  heap  of  rubbish.  '  I  would  fain  know,' 
says  the  Sultan,  '  what  those  two  owls  are  saying  to 
one  another ;  listen  to  their  discourse,  and  give  me 
an  account  of  it.'  The  vizier  approached  the  tree, 
pretending  to  be  very  attentive  to  the  two  owls. 
Upon  his  return  to  the  Sultan,  '  Sir,'  says  he,  'I 
have  heard  part  of  their  conversation,  but  dare  not 
tell  you  what  it  is.'    The  Sultan  would  not  be  satis- 


that  it  is  said  not  to  have  been  equalled,  but  by  SachevereU's 
trial. 


NO.    512.  SPECTATOR.  219 

fied  with  such  an  answer,  but  forced  him  to  repeat 
word  for  word  every  thing  the  owls  had  said.  '  You 
must  know,  then,'  said  the  vizier,  'that  one  of  these 
owls  has  a  son,  and  the  other  a  daughter,  between 
whom  they  are  now  upon  a  treaty  of  marriage.  The 
father  of  the  son  said  to  the  father  of  the  daughter, 
in  my  hearing,  "  Brother,  I  consent  to  this  marriage, 
provided  you  will  settle  upon  your  daughter  fifty 
ruined  villages  for  her  portion."  To  which  the  father 
of  the  daughter  replied,  "Instead  of  fifty,  I  will  give 
her  five  hundred,  if  you  please.  God  grant  a  long 
life  to  Sultan  Mahmoud !  Whilst  he  reigns  over 
us,  we  shall  never  want  ruined  villages."  ' 

The  story  says,  the  Sultan  was  so  touched  with 
the  fable,,  that  he  rebuilt  the  towns  and  villages 
which  had  been  destroyed,  and  from  that  time  for- 
ward consulted  the  good  of  his  people. 

To  fill  up  my  paper,  I  shall  add  a  most  ridiculous 
piece  of  natural  magic,  which  was  taught  by  no  less 
a  philosopher  than  Democritus,  namely,  that  if  the 
blood  of  certain  birds,  which  he  mentioned,  were 
mixed  together,  it  would  produce  a  serpent  of  such 
a  wonderful  virtue,  that  whoever  did  eat  it  should 
be  skilled  in  the  language  of  birds,  and  understand 
every  thing  they  said  to  one  another.  Whether  the 
dervise  above  mentioned  might  not  have  eaten  such 
a  serpent,  I  shall  leave  to  the  determination  of  the 
learned. 

0 


220  SPECTATOR.  NO.  613. 


No.  513.      SATURDAY,  OCTOBER  18,  1712. 


— Afflala  est  numine  quando 
Jam priynore  Dti. —  vikg.  ven.  vi.  50. 

When  all  the  god  came  nishing  on  her  soul. 

DRYDEN. 

Thk  following  letter  comes  to  me  from  that  excel- 
lent man  in  holy  orders,  whom  I  have  mentioned 
more  tlian  once  as  one  of  that  society,  who  assists 
me  in  my  speculations.  It  is  a  thought  in  sickness, 
and  of  a  very  serious  natui*e,  for  which  reason  I 
give  it  a  place  in  the  paper  of  this  day. 

"  SIR, 

•'  The  indisposition  which  has  long  hung  upon  me 
is  at  last  grown  to  such  a  head,  that  it  must  quickly 
make  an  end  of  me  or  of  itself.  You  may  imagine, 
that  whilst  lam  in  this  bad  state  of  health,- there 
are  none  of  your  works  which  I  read  with  greater 
pleasure  tlian  your  Saturday's  papers.  I  should  be 
very  glad  if  I  could  furnish  you  with  any  hints  for 
that  day's  entertainment.  Were  I  able  to  dress  up 
several  thoughts  of  a  serious  nature,  which  have 
made  great  impressions  on  my  mind  during  a  long 
tit  of  sickness,  they  might  not  be  an  improper  enter- 
tainment for  that  occasion. 

•'Among  all  the  reflections  which  usually  rise  in 
the  mind  of  a  sick  man,  who  has  time  and  inclina- 
tion to  consider  his  a[)proaching  end,  tliere  is  none 
more  natural  than  that  of  his  going  to  apjjear  naked 


NO.    513.  SPECTATOR.  221 

and  unbodied  before  Him  who  made  him.  When  a 
man  considers  that,  as  soon  as  the  vital  union  is 
dissolved,  he  shall  see  that  Supreme  Being  whom 
he  now  contemplates  at  a  distance,  and  only  in  his 
works,  01-,  to  speak  more  philosophically,  when,  by 
some  faculty  in  the  soul,  he  shall  apprehend  the  Di- 
vine Being,  and  be  more  sensible  of  his  presence 
than  we  are  now  of  the  presence  of  any  object  which 
the  eye  beholds,  a  man  must  be  lost  in  carelessness 
and  stupidity,  who  is  not  alarmed  at  such  a  thought. 
Dr.  Sherlock,  in  his  excellent  treatise  upon  Death, 
has  represented,  in  very  strong  and  lively  colours, 
the  state  of  the  soul  in  its  first  separation  from  the 
body,  with  regard  to  that  invisible  world  which 
everywhere  surrounds  us,  though  we  are  not  able 
to  discover  it  through  this  grosser  world  of  matter, 
which  is  accommodated  to  our  senses  in  this  life. 
His  words  are  as  follow  : 

'  That  death,  which  is  our  leaving  this  world,  is 
nothing  else  but  our  putting  oflF  these  bodies,  teaches 
us  that  it  is  only  our  union  to  these  bodies,  which 
intercepts  the  sight  of  the  other  world.  The  other 
world  is  not  at  such  a  distance  from  us  as  we  may 
imagine ;  the  throne  of  God,  indeed,  is  at  a  great 
remove  from  this  earth,  above  the  third  heavens, 
where  he  displays  his  glory  to  those  blessed  spirits 
which  encompass  his  throne ;  but  as  soon  as  we  step 
out  of  these  bodies  we  step  into  the  other  world, 
which  is  not  so  properly  another  world,  for  there  is 
the  same  heaven  and  earth  still,  as  a  new  state  of 
life.  To  live  in  these  bodies  is  to  live  in  this  world; 
to  live  out^of  them  is  to  remove  into  the  next;  for 
while  our  souls  are  confined  to  these  bodies,  and 
can  look  only  through  these  material  casements, 
nothing  but  what  is   material  can  affect  us ;  nay, 


222  SPECTATOR.  NO.    513. 

nothing  but  what  is  so  gross  that  it  can  reflect  hght, 
and  convey  these  shapes  and  colours  of"  things  with 
it  to  the  eye;  so  that,  tliough  witliin  this  visible 
world  there  be  a  more  glorious  scene  of  things  than 
what  appears  to  us,  we  perceive  nothing  at  all  of 
it ;  for  this  veil  of  flesh  parts  the  visible  and  invisible 
world  ;  but  when  we  put  off  these  bodies,  there  are 
new  and  surprising  wonders  present  themselves  to 
our  view ;  when  these  material  spectacles  are  taken 
off,  the  soul  with  its  own  naked  eyes  sees  what  was 
invisible  before  ;  and  then  we  are  in  the  other  world, 
when  we  can  see  it,  and  converse  with  it.  Thus 
St.  Paul  tells  us,  that  when  we  are  at  home  in  the 
body,  we  are  absent  from  the  Lord ;  but  when  we 
are  absent  from  the  body,  we  are  present  with  the 
Lord ;  2  Cor.  v.  6,  8.  And  mcthinks  this  is  enough 
to  cure  us  of  our  fondness  for  these  bodies,  uidess 
we  think  it  more  desirable  to  be  confined  to  a  prison, 
and  look  through  a  grate  all  our  lives,  which  gives 
us  but  a  very  narrow  prospect,  and  that  none  of  the 
best  neither,  than  to  be  set  at  liberty  to  view  all  the 
glories  of  the  world.  What  would  we  give  now  for 
the  least  glimpse  of  that  invisible  world,  which  the 
first  step  we  take  out  of  these  bodies  will  present 
us  with  ?  There  are  such  things  as  eye  hath  not 
seen  nor  ear  heard,  neither  hath  it  entered  into  the 
heart  of  man  to  conceive.  Death  opens  our  eyes, 
enlarges  our  pi'ospect,  presents  us  with  a  new  and 
more  glorious  world,  which  we  can  never  see  while 
we  are  shut  up  in  flesh ;  which  should  make  us  as 
willing  to  part  with  this  veil,  as  to  take  the  film  off 
of  our  eyes,  which  hinders  our  sight.' 

"  As  a  thinking  man  cannot  but  be  very  much 
affected  with  the  idea  of  his  appearing  in  the  pre- 
sence of  that  Being  '  whom  none  can  see  and  live,' 


NO.    513.  SPECTATOR.  223 

he  must  be  much  more  affected  when  he  considers 
that  this  Being  wijora  he  appears  before  will  examine 
all  the  actions  of  his  past  life,  and  reward  or  punish 
him  accordingly.  I  must  confess  that  I  think  there 
is  no  scheme  of  religion,  besides  that  of  Christianity, 
which  can  possibly  support  the  most  virtuous  person 
under  this  thought.  Let  a  man's  innocence  be  what 
it  will,  let  his  virtues  rise  to  the  highest  pitch  of 
perfection  attainable  in  this  life,  there  will  be  still 
in  him  so  many  secret  sins,  so  many  human  frailties, 
so  many  offences  of  ignorance,  passion,  and  preju- 
dice, so  many  unguarded  words  and  thoughts,  and, 
in  short,  so  many  defects  in  his  best  actions,  that, 
without  the  advantages  of  such  an  expiation  and 
atonement  as  Christianity  has  revealed  to  us,  it  is 
impossible  that  he  should  be  cleared  before  his 
Sovereign  Judge,  or  that  he  should  be  able  to 
'stand  in  his  sight.'  Our  holy  rehgion  suggests  to 
us  the  only  means  Avhereby  our  guilt  may  be  taken 
away,  and  our  imperfect  obedience  accepted. 

"  It  is  this  series  of  thought  that  I  have  endea- 
voured to  express  in  the  following  hymn,  which  I 
have  composed  during  this  my  sickness. 


When,  rising  from  the  bed  of  death, 
O'erwhelm'd  with  guilt  and  fear, 

I  see  my  Malcer,  face  to  face, 
0  how  shall  I  appear ! 


If  yet,  while  pardon  may  be  found, 
And  mercy  may  be  sought, 

My  heart  with  inward  horror  shrinks, 
And  trembles  at  the  thought ; 


When  Thou,  0  Lord,  shalt  stand  disclosed 

In  majesty  severe, 
And  sit  in  judgment  on  my  soul, 

0  how  shall  I  appear ! 


224  bPECTATOK.  NO.   518. 


But  Thou  hast  told  the  troubled  mind 

Who  does  lier  sins  hiinent, 
The  timely  tribute  of  her  tears, 

Shall  endless  woe  prevent. 


Then  see  the  sorrows  of  my  heart, 

Ere  yet  it  be  too  late; 
And  hear  ray  Saviour's  dying  groans, 

To  give  those  sorrows  weight. 


For  never  shall  my  soul  despair 

Her  pardon  to  procure, 
Who  knows  thine  only  Son  has  died 

To  make  her  pardon  sure. 

"  There  is  a  noble  hymn  in  Fi'encb,  which  Mon- 
sieur Bayle  lias  celebrated  for  a  very  fine  one,  and 
which  the  famous  author  of  the  Art  of^  Speaking 
calls  an  admirable  one,  that  turns  upon  a  thought 
of  the  same  nature.  If  1  could  have  done  it  justice 
in  English,  I  would  have  sent  it  to  you  translated ; 
it  was  written  by  Monsieur  des  Barreux,  who  had 
been  one  of  the  greatest  wits  and  libertines  in 
France,  but  in  his  last  years  was  as  remarkable  a 
penitent. 

Grand  Dieu,  tes  jugemens  sont  remplis  cfequite : 

Toitjours  tu  preiuls  pldisir  a  nous  etre  projnce. 

Mais  fai  Innl  fait  <ie  mal,  que  jamais  ta  bonte 

Ne  lite  pankmnera,  sans  chvquer  la  justice. 

Ouu,  num.  Dieu,  la  grandeur  de  mon  impiete 

Nc  laisse  a  ton  pouvolr  que  le  choix  du  supplice : 

Ton  interet  s^opjxtse  a  ma  filivite: 

lit  ta  citiiiience  mcine  attend  que  je  perisse. 

Contente  ton  desir,puis  qu'il  Vest  imrieux ; 

Offense  toi  despleurs  qui  coulenl  de  mes  yeux  ; 

Tonne, frappe,  il  est  temps,  rends  moi  guerre  pour  guerre; 

•Pfuhire  en  perissanl  la  raison  qui  t'aigrit. 

Mais  dessus  quel  endroit  lomhera  Vm  tonnerre. 

Qui  ne  soit  tout  couvei-t  du  sang  de  Jesus  Christ. 


NO.    514.  SPECTATOR.  225 

'•  If  these  thoughts  may  be  serviceable  to  you,  T 
desire  you  would  place  them  in  a  proper  light,  and 
am  ever,  with  great  sincerity, 

"  Sir,  yours,"  &c. 


No.  514.    MONDAY,  OCTOBER  20,  1712. 


— Me  Parnassi  deserta  per  ardua  dulcis 
Raptai  amor:  juval  ire  jugis,  qua  nulla 2}riorum 
Castaliam  molli  devertltur  orbita  clivo. 

VIRG.    GEORG.   ill.   291. 

But  the  commanding  Muse  my  chariot  guides, 

Whic"h  o'er  the  dubious  cliff  securely  rides: 

And  pleased  I  am  no  beaten  road  to  take, 

But  first  the  way  to  new  discov'ries  make.       dryden. 

"  MR.   SPECTATOR, 

"  I  CAME  home  a  little  later  than  usual  the  other 
night ;  and,  not  finding  myself  inclined  to  sleep,  I 
took  up  Virgil,  to  divert  me  till  I  should  be  more 
disposed  to  rest.  He  is  the  author  whom  I  always 
choose  on  such  occasions  ;  no  one  writing  in  so  di- 
vine, so  harmonious,  nor  so  equal  a  strain,  which 
leaves  the  mind  composed  and  softened  into  an 
agreeable  melancholy ;  the  temper,  in  which,  of  all 
others,  I  choose  to  close  the  day.  The  passages  I 
turned  to  w'ere  those  beautiful  raptures  in  his 
Georgics,  where  he  professes  himself  entirely  given 
up  to  the  Muses,  and  smit  with  the  love  of  poetry, 
passionately  wishing  to  be  transported  to  the  cool 
shades  and  retirements  of  the  mountain  Hsemus.    I 

VOL.    XI.  15 


226  SPKCTATOU.  NO.    ',14. 

closed  the  book  and  went  to  Ix'd.  What  I  had  just 
before  been  reading  made  so  strong  an  impression 
on  my  mind,  that  fancy  seemed  almost  to  fulfil  to 
me  the  wish  of  Virgil,  in  presenting  to  me  tiie  fol- 
lowing vision:  — 

"  ]Mcthougl\t  1  was  on  a  sudden  placed  in  the 
plains  of  Boeotia,  where,  at  the  end  of  the  horizon,  I 
saw  the  mountain  Parnassus  rising  before  me.  The 
prospect  was  of  so  large  an  extent,  that  I  had  long 
wandered  about  to  find  a  path  which  siiould  directly 
lead  me  to  it,  had  I  not  seen  at  some  distance  a 
grove  of  trees,  which,  in  a  plain  that  had  nothing 
else  remarkable  enough  in  it  to  fix  my  sight,  imme- 
diately <letermined  me  to  go  thither.  When  I  ar- 
rived at  it,  I  found  it  parted  out  into  a  great  number 
of  walks  and  alleys,  which  often  widened  into  beau- 
tiful openings,  as  circles  or  ovals,  set  round  with 
yews  and  cypresses,  with  niches,  grottos,  and  caves, 
placed  on  the  sides,  encompassed  with  ivy.  There 
was  no  sound  to  be  heard  in  the  whole  place,  but 
only  that  of  a  gentle  breeze  passing  over  the  leaves 
of  the  forest ;  every  thing  beside  was  buried  in  a 
profound  silence.  I  was  captivated  with  the  beauty 
and  retirement  of  the  place,  and  never  so  much, 
before  that  hour,  was  pleased  with  the  enjoyment 
of  mvself.  1  indulged  the  humour,  and  suffered 
myself  to  wander  without  choice  or  design.  At 
length,  at  the  end  of  a  range  of  trees,  I  saw  three 
figures  seated  on  a  bank  of  moss,  with  a  silent  brook 
creeping  at  their  feet.  I  adored  them  as  the  tute- 
lary divinities  of  the  place,  and  stood  still  to  take  a 
particular  view  of  each  of  them.  Tiie  middlemost, 
whose  name  was  Solitude,  sat  with  her  arms  across 
each  other,  and  seemed  rather  pensive,  and  wliolly 
taken  up  with  her  own  thoughts,  than  anyways 
grieved  or  displeased.     The  only  companions  which 


NO.    514.  SPECTATOR.  227 

she  admitted  into  that  retirement  were,  the  goddess 
Silence,  who  sat  on  her  right  hand  with  her  finger 
on  her  mouth,  and  on  her  left  Contemplation,  with 
her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  heavens.  Before  her  lay 
a  celestial  globe,  with  several  schemes  of  mathe- 
matical theorems.  She  prevented  my  speech  with 
the  greatest  affability  in  the  world.  '  Fear  not,' 
said  she,  '  I  know  your  request  before  you  speak  it ; 
you  would  be  led  to  the  mountain  of  the  Muses  ;  the 
only  way  to  it  lies  through  this  place,  and  no  one  is 
so  often  employed  in  conducting  pei'sons  thither  as 
myself.'  When  she  had  thus  spoken,  she  rose  from 
her  seat,  and  I  immediately  placed  myself  under 
her  direction  ;  but  whilst  I  passed  through  the  grove 
I  could  not  help  inquiring  of  her  who  were  the  per- 
sons admitted  into  that  sweet  retirement.  '  Surely,' 
said  I,  '  there  can  nothing  enter  here  but  virtue  and 
virtuous  thoughts ;  the  whole  wood  seems  designed 
for  the  reception  and  reward  of  such  persons  as 
have  spent  their  lives  according  to  the  dictates  of 
their  conscience,  and  the  commands  of  the  gods.' 
'  You  imagine  right,'  said  she  :  '  assure  yourself  this 
place  was  at  first  designed  for  no  other :  such  it 
continued  to  be  in  the  reign  of  Saturn,  when  none 
entered  here  but  holy  priests,  deliverers  of  their 
country  from  oppression  and  tyranny,  who  reposed 
themselves  here  after  their  labours,  and  those  whom 
the  study  and  love  of  wisdom  had  fitted  for  divine 
conversation.  But  now  it  is  become  no  less  danger- 
ous than  it  was  before  desirable :  vice  has  learned 
so  to  mimic  virtue,  that  it  often  creeps  in  hither 
under  its  disguise.  See  there;  just  before  you, 
Revenge  stalking  by,  habited  in  the  robe  of  Honour. 
Observe  not  far  from  him  Ambition,  standing  alone  ; 
if  you  ask  him  his  name,  he  will  tell  you  it  is  Emu- 
lation, or  Glory.     But  the  most  frequent  intruder 


228  SPECTATOR.  NO.    014. 

we  have  is  Lust,  who  succeeds  now  the  deity  to 
whom  in  better  days  this  grove  was  entirely  devoted. 
Virtuous  Love,  with  Hymen,  and  the  Graces  attend- 
ing him,  once  reigned  over  tliis  happy  phice  ;  a 
whole  train  of  virtues  waited  on  him,  and  no  dis- 
honourable thought  durst  presume  for  admittance. 
But  now,  how  is  the  whole  prospect  changed  !  and 
how  seldom  renewed  by  some  few  who  dare  des|)ise 
sordid  wealth,  and  imagine  themselves  fit  compan- 
ions for  so  charming  a  divinity  ! ' 

"  The  goddess  had  no  sooner  said  thus,  but  we 
were  arrived  at  the  utmost  boundaries  of  the  wood, 
which  lay  contiguous  to  a  plain  that  ended  at  the 
foot  of  the  mountain.  Here  I  kept  close  to  ray 
guide,  being  solicited  by  several  phantoms,  who  as- 
sured me  they  would  show  me  a  nearer  way  to  the 
mountain  of  the  Muses.  Among  the  rest  Vanity 
was  extremely  importunate,  having  deluded  infinite 
numbers,  whom  I  saw  wandering  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill.  I  turned  away  from  this  despicable  troop  with 
disdain  ;  and,  addressing  myself  to  my  guide,  told 
her  that,  as  I  had  some  hopes  I  should  be  able  to 
reach  up  part  of  the  ascent,  so  I  despaired  of  having 
strength  enough  to  attain  the  plain  on  the  top.  But, 
being  informed  by  her  that  it  was  impossible  to 
stand  upon  the  sides,  and  that,  if  I  did  not  proceed 
onwards,  I  should  irrevocably  fall  down  to  the  low- 
est verge,  I  resolved  to  hazard  any  labour  and  iiard- 
ship  in  the  attempt:  so  great  a  desire  had  I  of 
enjoying  the  satistaction  1  hoped  to  meet  with  at 
the  end  of  my  enterprise. 

"  There  were  two  paths,  which  led  up  by  differ- 
ent ways  to  the  summit  of  the  mountain  :  the  one 
was  guarded  by  the  genius  which  presides  over  the 
moment  of  our  births.  He  had  it  in  charge  to  ex- 
amine the  sevei'al  pretensions  of  those  who  desired 


NO.    514. 


SPECTATOR.  229 


to  pass  that  way,  but  to  admit  none  excepting  those 
only  on  whom  'Melpomene  had  looked  with  a  pro- 
pitious eye  at  the  hour  of  their  nativity.  The  other 
way  was  guarded  by  Diligence,  to  whom  many  of 
those  persons  applied  who  had  met  with  a  denial 
the  other  way  ;  but  he  was  so  tedious  in  granting 
their  request,  and  indeed,  after  admittance,  the  way 
was  so  very  intricate  and  laborious,  that  many,  after 
they  had  made  some  progress,  chose  rather  to  return 
back  than  proceed,  and  very  few  persisted  so  long 
as  to  arrive  at  the  end  they  proposed.  Besides 
these  two  paths,  which  at  length  severally  led  to 
the  top  of  the  mountain,  there  was  a  third  made  up 
of  these  two,  which  a  little  after  the  entrance  joined 
in  one.  This  carried  those  happy  few,  whose  good 
fortune  it  was  to  find  it,  directly  to  the  throne  of 
Apollo.  I  do  not  know  whether  I  should  even  now 
have  had  the  resolution  to  have  demanded  entrance 
at  either  of  these  doors,  had  I  not  seen  a  peasant- 
like man,  followed  by  a  numerous  and  lovely  train 
of  youths  of  both  sexes,  insist  upon  entrance  for  all 
whom  he  led  up.  He  put  me  in  mind  of  the  coun- 
try clown,  who  is  painted  in  the  map  for  leading 
Prince  Eugene  over  the  Alps.  He  had  a  bundle 
of  papers  in  his  hand  ;  and,  producing  several, 
which  he  said  were  given  to  him  by  hands  which  he 
knew  Apollo  would  allow  as  passes  ;  among  which, 
methoughts  I  saw  some  of  my  own  writing ;  the 
whole  assembly  was  admitted,  and  gave  by  their 
presence  a  new  beauty  and  pleasure  to  these  happy 
mansions.  I  found  the  man  did  not  pretend  to  en- 
ter himself,  but  served  as  a  kind  of  forester  in  the 
lawns,  to  direct  passengers,  who  by  their  own  merit, 
or  instructions  he  procured  for  them,  had  virtue 
enough  to  travel  that  way.  I  looked  very  atten- 
tively upon  this  kind  homely  benefactor ;  and  for- 


230  SPECTATOR.  NO.    514. 

give  me,  Mr.  Spectator,  if  I  own  to  you  I  took  him 
for  yourself  We  were  no  sooner  entered,  but  we 
were  sprinkled  three  times  with  the  water  of  the 
fountain  Aganippe,  which  had  power  to  deliver  us 
from  all  harms,  but  only  envy,  which  reached  even 
to  tlie  end  of  our  journey.  We  had  not  proceeded 
far  in  the  middle  path,  when  we  arrived  at  the  sum- 
mit of  the  hill,  where  there  immediately  appeared 
to  us  two  figures,  which  extremely  engaged  my  at- 
tention :  the  one  was  a  young  nymph  in  the  prime 
of  her  youth  and  beauty  ;  she  had  wings  on  her 
shoulders  and  feet,  and  was  able  to  transport  her- 
self to  the  most  distant  regions  in  the  smallest  space 
of  time.  She  was  continually  varying  her  dress, 
sometimes  into  the  most  natural  and  becoming  habits 
in  the  world,  and  at  others  into  the  most  wild  and 
freakish  garb  that  can  be  imagined.  There  stood 
by  her  a  man,  full-aged,  and  of  great  gravity,  who 
corrected  her  inconsistencies  by  showing  them  in 
this  *  mirror,  and  still  flung  her  affected  and  unbe- 
coming ornaments  down  the  mountain,  which  fell  in 
the  ])lain  below,  and  were  gathered  up  and  wore  t 
with  great  satisfaction  by  those  that  inhabited  it. 
The  name  of  the  nymph  was  Fancy,  the  daughter 
of  Lil)erty,  the  most  beautiful  of  all  the  mountain 
nymphs  :  the  other  was  Judgment,  the  offspring  of 
Time,  and  the  only  child  he  acknowledged  to  be  his. 
A  youth,  who  sat  upon  a  throne  just  between 
them,  was  their  genuine  offspring;  his  name  was 
Wit,  and  his  seat  was  composed  of  the  works  of 
the  most  celebrated  authors.  I  could  not  but  see 
with  a  secret  joy,  that,  though  the  Greeks  and  Ro- 
mans made  the  majority,  yet  our  own  countrymen 
were  the  next  both  in  number  and  dignity.     I  was 

*  His.  t   Worn  ;  pret.  for  participle. 


NO.    bli. 


SPECTATOR.  231 


now  at  liberty  to  take  a  full  prospect  of  that  de- 
lightful region.  I  was  inspired  with  new  vigour 
aud  life,  and  saw  every  thing  in  nobler  and  more 
pleasing  view  than  before  :  I  breathed  a  purer  ether 
in  a  sky  which  was  a  continued  azure,  gilded  with 
perpetual  sunshine.  The  two  summits  of  the 
mountain  rose  on  each  side,  and  formed  in  the 
midst  a  most  delicious  vale,  the  habitation  of  the 
Muses,  and  of  such  as  had  composed  works  worthy 
of  im'mortality.  Apollo  was  seated  upon  a  throne 
of  gold,  and  for  a  canopy  an  aged  laurel  spread  its 
boughs  and  its  shade  over  his  head.  His  bow  and 
quiver  lay  at  his  feet.  He  held  his  harp  in  his 
hand,  whilst  the  Muses  round  about  him  celebrated 
with  hymns  his  victory  over  the  serpent  Python, 
and  sometimes  sung  in  softer  notes  the  loves  of 
Leucothoe  and  Daphnis.  Homer,  Virgil,  and  Mil- 
ton, were  seated  the  next  to  them.  Behind,  were  a 
great  number  of  others  ;  among  whom  I  was  sur- 
prised to  see  some  in  the  habit  of  Laplanders,  who, 
notwithstanding  the  uncouthness  of  their  dress,  had 
lately  obtained  a  place  upon  the  mountain.  I  saw 
Pindar  walking  all  alone,  no  one  daring  to  accost 
him,  till  Cowley  joined  himself  to  him  ;  but,  grow- 
ing weary  of  one  who  almost  walked  him  out  of 
breath,  he  left  him  for  Horace  and  Anacreon,  with 
whom  he  seemed  infinitely  delighted. 

"  A  little  further  I  saw  another  group  of  figures ; 
I  made  up  to  them,  and  I  found  it  was  Socrates  dic- 
tating to  Xenophon,  and  the  spirit  of  Plato  ;  but. 
most  of  all,  Musgeus  had  the  greatest  audience  about 
him.  I  was  at  too  great  a  distance  to  hear  what 
he  said,  or  to  discover  the  faces  of  his  hearers  ;  only 
I  thought  I  now  perceived  Virgil,  who  had  joined 
them,  and  stood  in  a  posture  full  of  admiration  at 
the  harmony  of  his  words. 


232  SPECTATOR.  NO.   515. 

"  Lastly,  at  the  very  brink  of  the  hill,  I  saw  Boc- 
calini  sending  despatches  to  tiie  world  below  of  what 
happened  npon  Parnassus  ;  but  I  perceived  he  did 
it  witliout  leave  of  the  Muses,  and  by  stealth,  and 
was  unwilling  to  have  them  revised  by  Apollo.  I 
could  now,  from  this  height  and  serene  sky,  behold 
the  infinite  cares  and  anxieties  with  which  mortals 
below  sought  out  their  way  through  the  maze  of 
life.  I  saw  the  path  of  Virtue  lie  straight  before 
them,  whilst  Interest,  or  some  malicious  demon,  still 
hurried  them  out  of  the  way.  I  was  at  once  touched 
with  pleasure  at  my  own  happiness,  and  compassion 
at  the  sight  of  their  inextricable  errors.  Here  the 
two  contending  passions  rose  so  high,  that  they  were 
inconsistent  with  the  sweet  repose  I  enjoyed;  and, 
awaking  with  a  sudden  start,  the  only  consolation  I 
could  admit  of  tor  my  loss,  was  the  hopes  that  this 
relation  of  my  dream  will  not  displease  you." 
T 


No.  515.     TUESDAY,  OCTOBER  21,  1712. 


— PwJet  me,  el  miscret,  qui  harum  mores  cantabat  mihi, 
Monuisse  fruslra. —  ter.  heaut.  act.  ii.  sc.  3.  19. 

I  am  ashamed  and  grieved,  that  I  neglected  his  advice,  who 
gave  me  the  character  of  these  creatures. 

"  MR.    SPECTATOR, 

I  AM  obliged  to  you  for  printing  the  account 
I  lately  sent  you  of  a  coquette  who  disturbed  a 
sober  congregation  in    the  city  of  London.      That 


NO.    515.  SPECTATOR.  233 

intelligence  ended  at  her  taking  coach,  and  bidding 
the  driver  go  where  he  knew.  I  could  not  leave  her 
so,  but  dogged  her,  as  hard  as  she  drove,  to  St. 
Paul's  churchyard,  where  there  was  a  stop  of 
coaches  attending  company  coming  out  of  the  cathe- 
dral. This  gave  me  an  opportunity  to  hold  up  a 
crown  to  her  coachman,  who  gave  me  the  signal, 
and  that  he  would  hurry  on,  and  make  no  haste,  as 
you  know  the  way  is  when  they  favour  a  chase.  By 
his  many  kind  blunders,  driving  against  other  coaches, 
and  slipping  of  some  of  his  tackle,  I  could  keep  up 
with  hiln,  and  lodged  my  fine  lady  in  the  parish  of 
St.  James.  As  I  guessed,  when  I  first  saw  her  at 
church,  her  business  is  to  win  hearts,  and  throw 
them  away,  regarding  nothing  but  the  triumph.  I 
have  had  the  happiness,  by  tracing  her  through  all 
Avith  whom  I  heard  she  was  acquainted,  to  find  one 
who  was  intimate  with  a  friend  of  mine,  and  to  be 
introduced  to  her  notice.  I  have  made  so  good  a 
use  of  my  time,  as  to  procure  from  that  intimate  of 
hei's  one  of  her  letters,  which  she  writ  to  her  when 
in  the  country.  This  epistle  of  her  own  may  serve 
to  alarm  the  world  against  her  in  ordinary  life,  as 
mine,  I  hope,  did  those  who  shall  behold  her  at 
church.  The  letter  was  written  last  winter  to  the 
lady  who  gave  it  me ;  and  I  doubt  not  but  you  will 
find  it  the  soul  of  a  happy  self-loving  dame,  that 
takes  all  the  admiration  she  can  meet  with,  and  re- 
turns none  of  it  in  love  to  her  admirers. 


'  DEAR   JENNY, 

'  I  am  glad  to  find  you  are  likely  to  be  disposed 
of  in  marriage  so  much  to  your  approbation,  as  you 
tell  me.  You  say  you  are  afraid  only  of  me,  for  I 
shall  laugh  at  your  spouse's  airs.     I  beg  of  you  not 


2;j4  spectator.  no.  615. 

to  feur  it,  for  I  am  too  nice  a  discerner  to  laugh  at 
any,  but  whom  most  otlier  people  think  line  fellows; 
so  that  your  dear  may  bring  you  hither  as  soon  as 
his  horses  are  in  case  enough  to  appear  in  town,  and 
you  be  very  safe  against  any  raillery  you  may  ap- 
prehend from  me  ;  for  I  am  surrounded  with  cox- 
combs of  my  own  making,  who  are  all  ridiculous  in 
a  manner  wherein  your  good  man,  I  presume,  cannot 
exert  himself.  As  men  who  cannot  I'aise  their  for- 
tunes, and  are  uneasy  under  the  incapacity  of  shin- 
ing in  courts,  rail  at  ambition  ;  so  do  awkward  and 
insipid  women,  who  cannot  warm  the  heaits,  and 
charm  the  eyes  of  men,  rail  at  affectation  ;  but  she 
that  has  the  joy  of  seeing  a  man's  heart  leap  into 
his  eyes  at  beholding  her,  is  in  no  pain  for  want  of 
esteem  among  the  crew  of  that  part  of  her  own  sex, 
who  have  no  spirit  but  that  of  envy,  and  no  lan- 
guage but  that  of  malice.  I  do  not  in  this,  I  hope, 
express  myself  insensible  of  the  merit  of  Leodacia, 
who  lowers  her  beauty  to  all  but  her  husband,  and 
never  spreads  her  charms  but  to  gladden  him  who 
has  a  right  to  them  ;  I  say,  I  do  honour  to  those 
who  can  be  coquettes,  and  are  not  such  ;  but  I  de- 
spise all  who  would  be  so,  and,  in  despair  of  arriv- 
ing at  it  themselves,  hate  and  vilify  all  those  who 
can.  But  be  that  as  it  will,  in  answer  to  your  desire 
of  knowing  ray  history :  one  of  ray  cliief  present 
pleasures  is  in  country-dances ;  and  in  obedience  to 
me,  as  well  as  the  pleasure  of  coming  up  to  me  with 
a  good  grace,  showing  themselves  in  their  address 
to  others  in  my  presence,  and  the  like  opportunities, 
they  are  all  proficients  that  way ;  and  I  had  the 
happiness  of  being  the  other  night  where  we  made 
six  couple,  and  every  woman's  partner  a  professed 
lover  of  mine.  The  wildest  imagination  cannot  form 
to   itself,  on    any  occasion,  higher    delight    than   I 


NO.  515.  SPECTATOR.  235 

acknowledge  myself  to  have  been  in  all  that  even- 
ing. I  chose  out  of  my  admirers  a  set  of  men  who 
must  love  me,  and  gave  them  partners  of  such  of 
my  own  sex  who  most  envied  me. 

'  My  way  is,  when  any  man  who  is  my  admirer 
pretends  to  give  himself  airs  of  merit,  as  at  this  time 
a  certain  gentleman  you  know  did,  to  mortify  him 
by  favouring  in  his  presence  the  most  insignificant 
creature  I  can  find.  At  this  ball,  I  was  led  into  the 
company  by  pretty  Mr.  Fanfly,  who,  you  know,  is 
the  most  obsequious,  well-shaped,  well-bred  woman's 
man  in  town.  I  at  first  entrance  declared  him  my 
partner  if  I  danced  at  all ;  which  put  the  whole  as- 
sembly into  a  grin,  as  forming  no  terrors  from  such 
a  rival.  But  we  had  not  been  long  in  the  room 
before  I  overheard  the  meritorious  gentleman  above 
mentioned  say  with  an  oath,  '  There  is  no  raillery 
in  the  thing,  she  certainly  loves  the  puppy.'  My 
gentleman,  when  we  were  dancing,  took  an  occasion 
to  be  very  soft  in  his  oglings  upon  a  lady  he  danced 
with,  and  whom  he  knew  of  all  women  I  loved  most 
to  outshine.  The  contest  began  who  should  plague 
the  other  most.  I,  who  do  not  care  a  farthing  for 
him,  had  no  hard  task  to  outvex  him.  I  made  Fan- 
fly,  with  a  very  little  encouragement,  cut  capers 
coupee,  and  then  sink  with  all  the  air  and  tender- 
ness imaginable.  When  he  performed  this,  I  ob- 
served the  gentleman  you  know  of  fall  into  the  same 
way,  and  imitate  as  well  as  he  could  the  despised 
Fanrty.  I  cannot  well  give  you,  who  are  so  grave 
a  counti-y  lady,  the  idea  of  the  joy  we  have  when 
we  see  a  stubborn  heart  breaking,  or  a  man  of  sense 
turning  fool  for  our  sakes;  but  this  happened  to  our 
friend,  and  I  expect  his  attendance  whenever  I  go 
to  cliurch,  to  court,  to  the  play,  or  the  park.  This 
is  a  sacrifice  due  to  us  women  of  genius,  who  have 


2.3G  SPF.CTATOK.  NO.    515. 

the  eloquence  of  beauty,  and  easy  mien.  T  mean 
by  an  easy  mien,  one  which  can  be  on  occasion 
easily  affected  ;  for  I  must  tell  you,  dear  Jenny,  I 
hold  one  maxim,  wliich  is  an  uncommon  one,  to  wit, 
that  our  greatest  charms  are  owing  to  affectation.  It 
is  to  that  that  our  arms  can  lodge  so  (juietly  just 
over  our  hips,  and  the  fan  can  play  without  any 
force  or  motion  but  just  of  the  wrist.  It  is  to  affec- 
tation we  owe  the  pensive  attention  of  Deidamia  at 
a  tragedy,  the  scornful  approbation  of  Dulciaraara  at 
a  comedy,  and  the  lowly  aspect  of  Lanquicelsa  at  a 
sermon. 

'To  tell  you  the  plain  trutli,  I  know  no  pleasure 
but  in  being  admired,  and  have  yet  never  failed  of 
attaining  the  approbation  of  the  man  whose  regard 
I  had  a  mind  to.  You  see,  all  the  men  who  make 
a  figure  in  the  world,  as  wise  a  look  as  they  are 
pleased  to  put  upon  the  matter,  are  moved  by  the 
same  vanity  as  I  am.  What  is  there  in  ambition, 
but  to  make  other  people's  wills  depend  upon  yours? 
This,  indeed,  is  not  to  be  aimed  at  by  one  who  has  a 
genius  no  higher  than  to  think  of  being  a  very  good 
housewife  in  a  country  gentleman's  family.  The 
care  of  poultry  and  pigs  are  gre<it  enemies  to  the 
countenance ;  the  vacant  look  of  a  fine  lady  is  not 
to  be  preserved,  if  she  admits  any  thing  to  take  up 
her  thoughts  but  her  own  dear  person.  But  I  in- 
terrupt you  too  long  from  your  cares,  and  myself 
from  my  conquests. 

'  I  am,  Madam, 

'Your  most  humble  servant.' 

"  Give  me  leave,  Mr.  Spectator,  to  add  her  friend's 
answer  to  this  epistle,  who  is  a  very  discreet,  inge- 
nious woman. 


NO.  516.  SPECTATOR.  237 

'DEAR  GATTT, 

'  I  take  your  raillery  in  very  good  part,  and  am 
obliged  to  you  for  the  tree  air  with  which  you  speak 
of  your  own  gayeties.  But  this  is  but  a  barren, 
superficial  pleasure ;  for,  indeed,  Gatty,  we  are 
made  for  man ;  and  in  serious  sadness  I  must  tell 
you,  whether  you  yourself  know  it  or  no,  all  these 
gallantries  tend  to  no  other  end  but  to  be  a  wife 
and  a  mother  as  fast  as  you  can. 
'I  am.  Madam, 

'  Your  most  obedient  servant.' 


No.  516.  WEDNESDAY,  OCTOBER  22,  1712. 


Immortale  odium,  ei  nunquam  sannbile  vulnus  : — 

Irule  furor  vulgo,  quod  nuinina  vicinorum 

Odit  uterque  locus  ;  cum  solos  credat  habendos 

Esse  deos,  quos  ipse  colit. —  juv.  SAT.  xv.  34 

— A  gi'utch,  time  out  of  mind,  begun, 

And  mutually  bequeathed  from  sire  to  son: 

Religious  spite  and  pious  spleen  bred  first 

The  quarrel,  which  so  long  the  bigots  nurst: 

Each  calls  the  other's  god  a  senseless  stock: 

His  own  divine. —  tate. 

Of  all  the  monstrous  passions  and  opinions  which 
have  crept  into  the  world,  there  is  none  so  wonder- 
ful, as  that  those  who  profess  the  common  name  of 
Christians,  should  pursue  each  other  with  rancour 
and  hatred  for  differences  in  their  way  of  following 
the  example  of  their  Saviour.     It  seems  so  natural 


238  SPECTATOK.  NO.    ",16. 

that  all  who  pursue  the  steps  of  any  leader  should 
form  themselves  after  his  manners,  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  account  for  effects  so  different  from  what 
we  might  expect  from  those  who  profess  themselves 
followers  of  the  highest  pattern  of  meekness  and 
charity,  but  by  ascribing  sucli  effects  to  the  ambi- 
tion and  corruption  of  those  who  are  so  audacious, 
with  souls  full  of  fury,  to  serve  at  the  altars  of  the 
God  of  Peace. 

Tbe  massacres  to  W'hich  the  church  of  Rome  has 
animated  the  ordinary  people  are  dreadful  instances 
of  the  truth  of  this  ob.>ervation  ;  and  whoever  reads 
the  history  of  the  Irish  rebellion,  and  the  cruelties 
which  ensued  thereupon,  will  be  sufficiently  con- 
vinced to  what  rage  ])oor  ignorants  may  be  worked 
up  by  those  who  profess  holiness,  and  become  in- 
cendiaries, and,  under  the  dispensations  of  grace, 
promote  evils  abhorrent  to  nature. 

This  subject  and  catastrophe,  which  deserve  so 
well  to  be  remarked  by  the  protestant  world,  will, 
I  doubt  not,  be  considered,  by  the  reverend  and 
learned  preUite  that  preaches  to-morrow  before  many 
of  the  descendants  of  those  who  perislied  on  that  la- 
mentable day,  in  a  manner  suitable  to  the  occasion, 
and  worthy  liis  own  great  virtue  and  eloquence. 

I  shall  not  dwell  upon  it  any  further,  but  only 
transcribe  out  of  a  little  tract,  called  the  Christian 
Hero,  published  in  1701,  what  1  find  there  in  honour 
of  the  renowned  hero,  William  III.,  who  rescued 
that  nation  from  the  repetition  of  the  same  disasters. 
His  late  majesty,  of  glorious  memory,  and  the  most 
Christian  King,  are  considered  at  the  conclusion  of 
tliat  treatise  a,s  head>  of  the  protestant  and  Roman 
Catholic  world  in  the  following  manner. 

"There  were  not  ever,  before  the  entrance  of  the 
Christian  name  into  the  world,  men  who  have  main- 


NO.    516.  SPECTATOR.  239 

tained  a  more  renowned  carriage,  than  the  two 
great  rivals  who  possess  the  full  fame  of  the  present 
age,  and  will  be  the  theme  and  examination  of  the 
future.  They  are  exactly  formed  by  nature  for 
those  ends  to  which  Heaven  seems  to  have  sent  them 
amongst  us.  Both  animated  with  a  restless  desire 
of  glory,  but  pursue  it  by  different  means,  and  with 
different  motives.  To  one,  it  consists  in  an  exten- 
sive, undisputed  empire  over  his  subjects ;  to  the 
other,  in  their  rational  and  voluntary  obedience. 
One's  happiness  is  founded  in  their  want  of  power, 
the  other's  in  their  want  of  desire  to  oppose  him. 
The  one  enjoys  the  summit  of  fortune  with  the 
luxury  of  a  Persian,  the  other  with  the  moderation 
of  a  Spartan.  One  is  made  to  oppress,  the  other 
to  relieve  the  oppressed.  The  one  is  satisfied  with 
the  pomp  and  ostentation  of  power,  to  prefer  and  de- 
base his  inferiors ;  the  other  delighted  only  with  the 
cause  and  foundation  of  it,  to  cherish  and  protect 
them.  To  one,  therefore,  religion  is  but  a  con- 
venient disguise,  to  the  other  a  vigorous  motive  of 
action. 

"  For,  without  such  ties  of  real  and  solid  honour, 
there  is  no  way  of  forming  a  monarch,  but  after 
the  Machiavehan  scene,*  by  which  a  prince  must 
ever  seem  to  have  all  virtues,  but  really  to  be  master 
of  none  ;  but  is  to  be  liberal,  merciful,  and  just,  only 
as  they  serve  his  interests ;  while,  with  the  noble 
art  of  hypocrisy,  empire  would  be  to  be  extended, 
and  new  conquests  be  made  by  new  devices,  by 
which  prompt  address  his  creature  might  insensibly 
give  law  in  the  business  of  life,  by  leading  men  in 
the  entertainment  of  it. 

"  Thus,  when  words  and  show  are  apt  to  pass  for 

*  So  in  the  0.  F.,  but  surely  a  misprint  for  scheme. 


240  SPECTATOR.  NO.    516. 

the  substantial  things  they  are  only  to  express, 
there  wouUl  need  no  more  to  enslave  a  country  but 
to  adorn  a  court ;  for  while  every  man's  vanity 
makes  him  believe  himself  capable  of  becoming 
luxury,  enjoyments  are  a  ready  bait  for  sufferings, 
and  the  hopes  of  preferment  invitations  to  servitude  ; 
which  slavery  would  be  coloured  with  all  the  agree- 
ments, as  they  call  it,  imaginable.  The  noblest  arts 
and  artists,  the  finest  pens  and  most  elegant  minds, 
jointly  employed  to  set  it  off"  with  the  various  em- 
bellishments of  sumptuous  entertainments,  charming 
assemblies,  and  polished  discourses,  and  those  apos- 
tate abilities  of  men,  the  adored  monarch  might 
profusely  and  skilfully  encourage,  while  they  flatter 
his  virtue,  and  gild  his  vice  at  so  high  a  rate,  that 
he,  without  scorn  of  the  one,  or  love  of  the  other, 
would  alternately  and  occasionally  use  both  ;  so  that 
his  bounty  should  support  him  in  his  rapines,  his 
mercy  in  his  cruelties. 

"  Nor  is  it  to  give  things  a  more  severe  look  than 
is  natural,  to  suppose  such  must  be  the  consequences 
of  a  prince's  having  no  other  pursuit  than  that  of 
his  own  glory  ;  for  if  we  consider  an  infant  born  into 
the  world,  and  beholding  itself  the  mightiest  thing 
in  it,  itself  the  present  admiration  and  future  pros- 
pect of  a  fawning  people,  who  profess  themselves 
great  or  mean,  according  to  the  figure  he  is  to  make 
amongst  them,  what  fancy  would  not  be  debauched 
to  believe  they  were  but  what  they  professed  them- 
selves— his  mere  creatui-es,  and  use  them  as  such, 
by  purchasing  with  their  lives  a  boundless  renown, 
which  he,  for  want  of  a  more  just  prospect,  would 
place  in  the  number  of  his  slaves,  and  the  extent  of 
his  territories?  Such,  undoubtedl),  would  be  the 
tragical  eff^ects  of  a  prince's  living  with  no  rehgion, 
which  are  not  to  be  surpassed  but  by  having  a  false 
one. 


NO.    516.  SPECTATOR.  241 

'•  If  ambition  were  spirited  with  zeal,  what  would 
follow,  but  that  his  people  should  be  converted  into 
an  arnij,  whose  swords  can  make  right  in  power, 
and  solve  controversy  in  belief?  And  if  men  should 
be  stiff-necked  to  the  doctrine  of  that  visible  church, 
let  them  be  contented  with  an  oar  and  a  chain,  in 
the  midst  of  sti'ipes  and  anguish,  to  contemplate 
on  Him  whose  yoke  is  easy  and  whose  burden  is 
light. 

"  With  a  tyranny  begun  on  his  own  subjects,  and 
indignation  that  others  draw  their  breath  independ- 
ent of  his  frown  or  smile,  why  should  he  not  pro- 
ceed to  the  seizure  of  the  world?  And  if  nothing 
but  the  thirst  of  sway  were  the  motive  of  his  actions, 
why  should  treaties  be  other  than  mere  words,  or 
solemn  national  compacts  be  any  thing  but  a  halt  in 
the  march  of  that  army,  who  are  never  to  lay  down 
their  arms  till  all  men  are  reduced  to  the  necessity 
of  hanging  their  lives  on  his  wayward  will ;  who 
might  supinely,  and  at  leisure,  expiate  his  own  sins, 
by  other  men's  sufferings,  while  he  daily  meditates 
new  slaughter  and  new  conquests  ? 

"  For  mere  man,  when  giddy  with  unbridled  power, 
is  an  insatiate  idol,  not  to  be  appeased  with  myriads 
offered  to  his  pride,  which  may  be  puffed  up  by  the 
adulation  of  a  base  and  prostrate  world  into  an  opi- 
nion that  he  is  something  more  than  human,  by 
being  something  less ;  and,  alas,  what  is  there  that 
mortal  man  will  not  believe  of  himself,  when  com- 
plimented with  the  attributes  of  God  ?  He  can  then 
conceive  thoughts  of  a  power  as  omnipresent  as  his. 
But,  should  there  be  such  a  foe  of  mankind  upon 
earth,  have  our  sins  so  far  provoked  Heaven,  that 
we  are  left  utterly  naked  to  his  fury  ?  Is  there  no 
power,  no  leader,  no  genius,  that  can  conduct  and 
animate   us  to  our  death,  or  our  defence?     Yes; 

VOL.    XI.  16 


242  SPECTATOR.  NO.   516. 

our  great  God  never  gave  one  to  reign  by  his  per- 
mission, but  he  gave  to  another  also  to  reign  by  his 
grace. 

"All  the  circumstances  of  the  illustrious  life  of 
our  prince  seem  to  have  cons[)ire(l  to  make  hira  the 
check  and  bridle  of  tyranny ;  for  his  mind  has  been 
strengthened  and  confirmed  by  one  continued  strug- 
gle, and  Heaven  has  educated  him  by  adversity  to 
a  quick  sense  of  the  distresses  and  miseries  of  man- 
kind, which  he  was  born  to  redress.  In  just  scorn 
of  the  trivial  glories  and  light  ostentations  of  power, 
that  glorious  instrument  of  Providence  moves,  like 
that,  in  a  steady,  calm,  and  silent  course,  independ- 
ent either  of  ai)plause  or  calumny;  which  renders 
him,  if  not  in  a  political,  yet  in  a  moral,  a  philo- 
sophic, an  heroic,  and  a  Christian  sense,  an  absolute 
monarch ;  who,  satisfied  with  this  unchangeable, 
just,  and  ample  glory,  must  needs  turn  all  his  re- 
gards from  himself  to  the  service  of  others  ;  for  he 
begins  his  enterprises  with  his  own  share  in  the 
success  of  them  ;  for  integrity  bears  in  itself  its  re- 
ward, nor  can  that  which  depends  not  on  event  ever 
know  disappointment. 

"  With  the  undoubted  character  of  a  glorious 
captain,  and,  what  he  much  more  values  than  the 
most  splendid  titles,  that  of  a  sincere  and  honest 
man,  he  is  the  hope  and  stay  of  Europ?,  and  uni- 
versal good ;  not  to  be  engrossed  by  us  only,  for 
distant  potentates  implore  his  friendship,  and  injured 
empires  court  his  assistance.  He  rules  the  world, 
jiot  by  an  invasion  of  the  people  of  the  earth,  but 
the  address  of  its  princes;  and,  if  that  world  should 
be  again  roused  from  the  repose  which  his  prevail- 
ing arms  had  given  it,  why  should  we  not  hope  that 
there  is  an  Almiglity,  by  whose  infiuence  the  ter- 
rible enemy  tliat  thinks  himself  prepared  for  battle 


NO.    517.  SPECTATOR.  243 

may  find  he  is  but  ripe  for  destruction  ? — and  that 
there  may  be  in  the  womb  of  time  great  incidents, 
which  may  make  the  catasti'ophe  of  a  prosperous 
life  as  unfortunate  as  the  particular  scenes  of  it 
were  successful  ? — for  there  does  not  want  a  skilful 
eye  and  resolute  arm  to  observe  and  grasp  the  oc- 
casion.    A  prince,  who  from — 

— Fuit  Ilium,  et  ingens 
Gloria. —  virg.  ^n.  ii.  325. 

Troy  is  no  more,  and  Ilium  was  a  town."         dryden, 

T 


No.  517.     THURSDAY,  OCTOBER  23,  1712. 


Heupietas!  heuprisca  fides!  virg.  jes.  vi.  878. 

Mirror  of  ancient  faith ! — 

Undaunted  worth !    Inviolable  truth !  drtden. 

We  last  night  received  a  piece  of  ill-news  at  our 
club,  which  very  sensibly  afflicted  every  one  of  us. 
I  question  not  but  my  readers  themselves  will  be 
troubled  at  the  hearing  of  it.  To  keep  them  no 
longer  in  suspense,  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  is  dead. 
He  departed  this  life  at  his  house  in  the  country, 
after  a  few  weeks'  sickness.  Sir  Andrew  Freeport 
has  a  letter  from  one  of  his  correspondents  in  those 
parts,  that  informs  him  the  old  man  caught  a  cold 
at  the  county-sessions,  as  he  was  very  warmly  pro- 
moting an  address  of  his  own  penning,  in  which  he 
succeeded  according  to  his  wishes.     But  this  par- 


244  srixT.vTou.  xo.  517. 

ticular  comes  from  a  whig  justice  of  peace,  who 
was  always  Sir  Roger's  enemy  and  antagonist.  I 
have  letters  both  from  tlie  cliaplain  and  Captain 
Sentry,  which  mention  nothing  of  it,  but  are  filled 
with  many  particulars  to  the  honour  of  the  good  old 
man.  I  have  likewise  a  letter  from  the  butler,  who 
took  so  much  care  of  me  last  summer  when  I  was 
at  the  knight's  house.  As  my  friend  the  butler 
mentions,  in  the  simplicity  of  his  heart,  several  cir- 
cumstances the  others  have  passed  over  in  silence, 
I  shall  give  my  reader  a  copy  of  his  letter,  without 
anv  alteration  or  diminution. 


"  HONOURED    SIR, 

"  Knowing  that  you  was  my  old  master's  good 
friend,  I  could  not  forbear  sending  you  the  melan- 
choly news  of  his  death,  which  has  afflicted  the 
whole  country,  as  well  as  his  poor  servants,  who 
loved  him,  I  may  say,  better  than  we  did  our  lives. 
I  am  afraid  he  caught  his  death  the  last  county- 
sessions,  where  he  would  go  to  see  justice  done  to  a 
poor  widow  woman,  and  her  fatherless  children, 
that  had  been  wronged  J)y  a  neighbo'uring  gentle- 
man ;  for  you  know.  Sir,  my  good  master  was  al- 
ways the  poor  man's  friend.  Upon  his  coming  home, 
the  first  complaint  he  made  was,  that  he  had  lost 
his  roast-beef  stomach,  not  being  able  to  touch  a 
sirloin,  which  was  served  up  according  to  custom ; 
and  you  know  he  used  to  take  great  delight  in  it. 
From  that  time  forward  he  grew  worse  and  worse, 
but  still  kept  a  good  heart  to  the  last.  Indeed,  we 
were  once  in  great  hopes  of  his  recovery,  upon  a 
kind  message  that  was  sent  him. from  the  widow 
lady  whom  he  had  made  love  to  the  last  forty  years 
of  his  life ;  but  this  only  proved  a  lightning  before 


NO.   517.  SPECTATOR.  245 

death.  He  has  bequeathed  to  this  lady,  as  a  token 
of  his  love,  a  great  pearl  necklace,  and  a  couple  of 
silver  bracelets  set  with  jewels,  which  belonged  to 
my  good  old  lady  his  mother.  He  has  bequeathed 
the  fine  white  gelding  that  he  used  to  ride  a  hunting 
upon  to  his  chaplain,  because  he  thought  he  would 
be  kind  to  him  ;  and  has  left  you  all  his  books.  He 
has,  moreover,  bequeathed  to  the  chaplain  a  very 
pretty  tenement  with  good  lands  about  it.  It  being 
a  very  cold  day  when  he  made  his  will,  he  left  for 
mourning  to  every  man  in  the  parish,  a  great  frieze- 
coat,  and  to  every  woman  a  black  riding-hood.  It 
was  a  moving  sight  to  see  him  take  leave  of  his 
poor  servants,  commending  us  all  for  our  fidelity, 
whilst  we  were  not  able  to  speak  a  word  for  weep- 
ing. As  we  most  of  us  are  grown  gray-headed  in 
our  dear  master's  service,  he  has  left  us  pensions 
and  legacies,  which  we  may  live  very  comfortably 
upon  the  remaining  part  of  our  days.  He  has  be- 
queathed a  great  deal  more  in  charity,  which  is  not 
yet  come  to  my  knowledge,  and  it  is  peremptorily 
said  in  the  parish,  that  he  has  left  money  to  build  a 
steeple  to  the  church,  for  he  was  heard  to  say 
some  time  ago,  that,  if  he  lived  two  years  longer, 
Coverley  church  should  have  a  steeple  to  it.  The 
chaplain  tells  every  body  that  he  made  a  very  good 
end,  and  never  speaks  of  him  without  tears.  He 
was  buried,  according  to  his  own  directions,  among 
the  family  of  the  Coverleys,  on  the  left  hand  of  his 
father  Sir  Arthur.  The  coffin  was  carried  by  six 
of  his  tenants,  and  the  pall  held  up  by  six  of  the 
quorum.  The  whole  parish  followed  the  corpse 
with  heavy  hearts,  and  in  their  mourning  suits  ;  the 
men  in  frieze,  and  the  women  in  riding-hoods.  Cap- 
tain Sentry,  my  master's  nephew,  has  taken  pos- 
session of  the   Hall-house,  and    the  whole   estate. 


246  SPECTATOR.  NO.   517. 

When  my  old  master  saw  him  a  little  before  his 
death,  he  shook  him  by  the  hand,  and  wished  him 
joy  of  the  estate  which  was  falling  to  him,  desiring 
liim  only  to  make  a  good  use  of  it,  and  to  pay  the 
several  legacies,  and  the  gifts  of  charity,  which  he 
told  him  he  had  left  as  quitrents  upon  the  estate. 
The  captain  truly  seems  a  courteous  man,  though 
he  savs  but  little.  He  makes  much  of  those  whom 
my  master  loved,  and  shows  great  kindness  to  the 
old  iiouse-dog,  that  you  know  my  poor  master  was 
so  fond  of.  It  would  have  gone  to  your  heart  to 
have  heard  the  moans  the  dumb  creature  made  on 
the  day  of  my  master's  death.  He  has  never  en- 
joyed himself  since ;  no  more  has  any  of  us.  It 
was  the  raelancholiest  day  for  the  poor  people  that 
ever  happened  in  Worcestershire.  This  being  all 
from, 

"  Honoured  Sir, 

"  Your  most  sorrowful  servant, 

"Edward  Biscuit. 

"  P.  S.  My  master  desired,  some  weeks  before 
he  died,  that  a  book,  which  comes  to  you  by  the 
carrier,  should  be  given  to  Sir  Andrew  Freeport,  in 
hi>  name." 

This  letter,  notwithstanding  the  poor  butler's  man- 
ner of  writing  it,  gave  us  such  an  idea  of  our  good 
old  friend,  that  upon  the  reading  of  it  there  was  not 
a  dry  eye  in  the  club.  Sir  Andrew,  opening  the 
book,  found  it  to  be  a  collection  of  acts  of  parliament. 
There  was  in  particular  the  Act  of  Uniformity,  with 
some  passages  in  it  marked  by  Sir  Roger's  own 
hand.  Sir  Andrew  found  that  they  related  to  two 
or  three  points  which  he  had  disputed  with  Sir 
Roger,  the  last  time  he  appeared  at  the  club.     Sir 


NO. 


SPECTATOR.  247 


Andrew,  who  would  have  been  merry  at  such  an 
incident  on  another  occasion,  at  the  sight  of  the  old 
man's  handwriting  burst  into  tears,  and  put  the  book 
into  his  pocket.  Captain  Sentry  informs  me  that 
the  knight  has  left  rings  and  mourning  for  every 
one  in  the  club. 
O 


No.  518.     FRIDAY,  OCTOBER  24,  1712. 


— Miserum  est  alioruni  incumbere  famee, 
Ne  collapsa  ruant  subductis  tecta  columnis. 

juv.  SAT.  viii.  76. 

'Tis  poor  re]ying  on  another's  fame; 

For,  take  the  pillars  but  away,  and  all 

The  superstructure  must  in  ruins  fall.  stepney. 

This  being  a  day  of  business  with  me,  I  must 
make  the  present  entertainment  like  a  treat  at  a 
house-warming,  out  of  such  presents  as  have  been 
sent  me  by  my  guests.  The  first  dish  which  I  serve 
up  is  a  letter  come  fresh  to  my  hand. 

"  MR.    SPECTATOR, 

"  It  is  with  inexpressible  sorrow  that  I  hear  of 
the  death  of  good  Sir  Roger,  and  do  heartily  con- 
dole with  you  upon  so  melancholy  an  occasion.  I 
think  you  ought  to  have  blackened  the  edges  of  a 
paper  w'hich  brought  us  so  ill  news,  and  to  have  had 
it  stamped  likewise  in  black.  It  is  expected  of  you 
that  you  should  w^rite  his  epitaph,  and,  if  possible, 


24S  sriccTATOU.  xo.  .lis. 

fill  liis  place  in  <Ii«^  club  with  as  worthy  and  diverting 
a  member.  I  riuestion  not  but  you  will  receive 
many  recommendations  from  the  public  of  such  as 
will  appear  candidates  for  that  post. 

"  Since  I  am  talking  of  death,  and  have  men- 
tioned an  epitaph,  I  must  tell  you,  Sir,  that  I  have 
made  discovery  of  a  churchyard  in  which  I  believe 
you  might  spend  an  afternoon  with  great  pleasure 
to  yourself  and  to  the  pubhc.  It  belongs  to  the 
church  of  Stebon-Heath,  commonly  called  Stepney. 
Wliether  or  no  it  be  that  the  people  of  tiiat  parish 
have  a  particular  genius  for  an  epitaph,  or  that  there 
be  some  poet  among  them  who  undertakes  that  work 
by  the  great,  I  cannot  tell ;  but  there  are  more  re- 
markable inscriptions  in  that  place  than  in  any 
other  I  have  met  with;  and  I  may  say,  without 
vanity,  that  there  is  not  a  gentleman  in  England 
better  read  in  tombstones  than  myself,  my  studies 
having  laid  very  much  in  churchyards.  I  shall 
beg  leave  to  send  you  a  couple  of  epitfvphs,  for  a 
sample  of  those  I  have  just  now  mentioned.  They 
are  written  in  a  different  manner ;  the  first  being  in 
the  diffused  and  luxuriant,  the  second  in  the  close 
contracted  style.  The  first  has  much  of  the  simple 
and  pathetic ;  the  second  is  something  light,  but 
nervous.     The  first  is  thus  : 

Here  Thomas  Sapper  lies  interr'd.     Ah  why! 
Born  ill  New  Engliind,  did  in  London  die; 
Was  tlie  third  son  of  eight,  begot  upon 
His  inotlier  Martha,  by  his  father  Joiin. 
Mucli  favoured  by  his' prince  he  Van  to  be, 
lint  nipt  by  death  at  tli'  age  of  twenty-three. 
Fatal  to  him  was  that  we  smallpox  iiame. 
Bv  which  hi-i  mother  and  two  brethren  came 
Also  to  breathe  their  last,  nine  years  before, 
And  now  have  left  their  father  to  deplore 
The  loss  of  all  his  children,  witli  his  wife, 
Who  was  the  joy  and  comfort  of  his  life. 


NO.    518.  SPECTATOU.  249 

"  The  second  is  as  follows : 

Here  lies  the  body  of  Daniel  Saul, 
Spittlefields  weaver,  and  that's  all. 

"  I  will  not  dismiss  you,  whilst  I  am  upon  this 
subject,  without  sending  a  shoi-t  epitaph  which  I 
once  met  with,  though  I  cannot  possibly  recollect 
the  place.  The  thought  of  it  is  serious,  and  in  my 
opinion  the  finest  that  I  ever  met  with  upon  this 
occasion.  You  know,  Sir,  it  is  usual,  after  having 
told  us  the  name  of  the  person  who  lies  interred, 
to  launch  out  into  his  praises.  This  epitaph  takes 
a  quite  contrary  turn,  having  been  made  by  the 
person  himself  sometime  before  his  death. 

'■Hie  jacet  R.  G.,  in  expectatione  diet  supremi. 
Qualis  erat  dies  iste  indicabit.^ 

'  Here  lieth  R.  C,  in  expectation  of  the  last  day. 
What  sort  of  a  man  he  was  that  day  will  disco  v-er.' 

"  I  am,  Sir,"  &c. 
The  following  letter  is  dated  from  Cambridge. 

"  SIR, 

"  Having  lately  read  among  your  speculations  an 
essay  upon  physiognomy,  I  cannot  but  think  that, 
if  you  made  a  visit  to  this  ancient  university,  you 
might  receive  very  considerable  lights  upon  that 
subject,  there  being  scarce  a  young  fellow  in  it  who 
does  not  give  certain  indications  of  his  particular 
humour  and  disposition,  conformable  to  the  rules 
of  that  art.  In  courts  and  cities  everybody  lays  a 
constraint  upon  his  countenance,  and  endeavours  to 
look  like  the  rest  of  the  world ;  but  the  youth  of 


200  SrKCTATOK.  NO.   518. 

this  phice,  having  not  yet  formed  themselves  by 
conversation,  and  the  knowledge  of  the  world,  give 
their  limbs  and  teatiues  their  full  play. 

"As  you  liave  considered  iuunan  nature  in  all  its 
lights,  you  must  be  extremely  well  apprised,  that 
there  is  a  very  close  correspondence  between  the 
outward  and  the  inward  man;  that  scarce  the  least 
dawning,  the  least  parturiency  towards  a  thought 
can  be  stirring  in  the  mind  of  man,  without  pro- 
ducing a  suitable  revolution  in  his  exteriors,  wiiich 
will  easily  discover  itself  to  an  adept  in  the  theory 
of  the  phiz.  Hence  it  is  that  the  intrinsic  wortii 
and  merit  of  a  son  of  Alma  Mater  is  ordinarily 
calculated  from  the  cast  of  his  visage,  the  contour 
of  his  person,  the  mechanism  of  his  dress,  the  dis- 
position of  his  limbs,  the  manner  of  his  gait  and 
air,  with  a  number  of  circumstances  of  equal  con- 
sequence and  information.  The  practitioners  in 
this  art  often  make  use  of  a  gentleman's  eyes  to 
give  them  light  into  the  posture  of  his  brains;  take 
a  handle  from  his  nose  to  judge  of  the  size  of  his 
intellects  ;  and  interpret  the  overmuch  visibility  and 
pertness  of  one  ear  as  an  infallible  mark  of  repro- 
bation, and  a  sign  the  owner  of  so  saucy  a  member 
fears  neither  God  nor  man.  In  conformity  to  tiiis 
scheme,  a  contracted  brow,  a  lumpish  downcast  look, 
a  sober  sedate  pace,  with  both  hands  dangling  quiet 
and  steady  in  lines  exactly  parallel  to  each  lateral 
pocket  of  the  galligaskins,  is  logic,  metaphysics,  and 
mathematics,  in  perfection.  So  likewise  the  belles- 
lettres  are  typified  by  a  saunter  in  the  gait,  a 
fall  of  one  wing  of  the  peruke  backward,  an  in- 
sertion of  one  hand  in  the  fob,  and  a  negligent 
swing  of  the  other,  with  a  pinch  of  right  fine  Bar- 
celona between  finger  and  thumb,  a  due  quantity 
of  the  same  upon  the  upper  lip,  and  a  noddle-case 


NO.    519. 


SPECTATOR.  251 


loaden  with  pulvil.  Again,  a  grave  solemn-stalking 
pace  is  heroic  poetry,  and  politics ;  an  unequal  one, 
a  genius  for  the  ode,  and  the  modern  ballad ;  and 
an  open  breast,  with  an  audacious  display  of  the 
Holland  shirt,  is  construed  a  fatal  tendency  to  the 
art  military. 

"  I  might  be  much  larger  upon  these  hints,  but  I 
know  whom  I  write  to.  If  you  can  graft  any  spe- 
culation upon  them,  or  turn  them  to  the  advantage 
of  the  persons  concerned  in  them,  you  will  do  a 
work  very  becoming  the  British  Spectator,  and 
oblige, 

"  Your  very  humble  servant, 

"Tom  Tweer." 


No.  519.     SATURDAY,  OCTOBER  20,  1712. 


Inde  hominum  pecvdumque  genus,  vitceque,  volantum, 
Et  qu<B  marmoreo  fert  rnonstra  sttb  aquore  ponius. 

viRG.  JEH.  vi.  728. 

Hence  men  and  beasts  the  breath  of  life  obtain. 

And  birds  of  air,  and  monsters  of  the  main,    dkyden. 

Though  there  is  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  in  con- 
templating the  material  world,  by  which  I  mean 
that  system  of  bodies  into  which  nature  has  so  cu- 
riously wrought  the  mass  of  dead  matter,  with  the 
several  relations  which  those  bodies  bear  to  one 
another  ;  there  is  still,  methinks,  something  more 
wonderful  and  surprising  in  contemplations  on  the 


252  SPECTATOR.  NO.    519. 

world  of  life,  by  which  I  mean  all  those  animals 
with  which  every  part  of  the  universe  is  furnished. 
The  material  world  is  only  the  shell  of  the  universe ; 
the  whole  world  of  life  are  its  inhabitants. 

If  we  consider  those  parts  of  the  material  world 
which  lie  the  nearest  to  us,  and  are  therefore  sub- 
ject to  our  observations  and  inquiries,  it  is  amazing 
to  consider  the  infinity  of  animals  with  which  it  is 
stocked.  Every  part  of  matter  is  peopled ;  every 
green  leaf  swarms  with  inhabitants.  There  is  scarce 
a  single  humour  in  the  body  of  man,  or  of  any  otlier 
animal,  in  which  our  glasses  do  not  discover  myri- 
ads of  living  creatures.  The  surface  of  animals  is 
also  covered  with  other  animals,  which  are  in  the 
same  manner  the  basis  of  other  animals  that  live 
upon  it ;  nay,  we  find  in  the  most  solid  bodies,  as 
in  marble  itself,  innumerable  cells  and  cavities  that 
are  crowded  witli  such  imperceptible  inhabitants  as 
are  too  little  for  the  naked  eye  to  discover.  On  the 
other  hand,  if  we  look  into  the  more  bulky  parts  of 
nature,  we  see  the  seas,  lakes,  and  rivers,  teeming 
with  numberless  kinds  of  living  creatures.  We  find 
every  mountain  and  marsh,  wilderness,  and  wood, 
plentifully  stocked  with  birds  and  beasts  ;  and  every 
part  of  matter  affording  proper  necessaries  and  con- 
veniencies  for  the  livelihood  of  multitudes  which 
inhabit  it. 

The  author  *  of  the  Plurality  of  Worlds  draws  a 
very  good  argument  from  this  consideration  for  the 
peopling  of  every  planet ;  as  indeed  it  seems  very 
probable,  from  the  analogy  of  reason,  that  if  no 
part  of  matter,  which  we  are  acquainted  with,  lies 
waste  and  useless,  those  great  bodies,  which  are  at 


*  Fontenelle. — This   book   was   published   in   1686,   and   is 
founded  on  the  chimerical  Vortices  of  Descartes. 


NO.    519.  SPECTATOR.  253 

such  a  distance  from  us,  should  not  be  desert  and 
unpeopled,  but  rather  that  they  should  be  furnished 
with  beings  adapted  to  their  respective  situations. 

Existence  is  a  blessing  to  those  beings  only 
which  are  endowed  with  perception ;  and  is  in  a 
manner  thrown  away  upon  dead  matter,  any  further 
than  as  it  is  subservient  to  beings  which  are  con- 
scious of  their  existence.  Accordingly,  we  find, 
from  the  bodies  which  lie  under  our  observation, 
that  matter  is  only  made  as  the  basis  and  support 
of  animals,  and  that  there  is  no  more  of  the  one 
than  what  is  necessary  for  the  existence  of  the 
other. 

Infinite  goodness  is  of  so  communicative  a  nature, 
that  it  seems  to  delight  in  the  conferring  of  exist- 
ence upon  every  degree  of  perceptive  being.  As 
this  is  a  speculation  which  I  have  often  pursued 
with  great  pleasure  to  myself,  I  shall  enlarge  fur- 
ther upon  it,  by  considering  that  part  of  the  scale 
of  beings  which  comes  within  our  knowledge. 

There  are  some  living  creatures  which  are  raised 
but  just  above  dead  matter.  To  mention  only  that 
species  of  shell-fish,  which  are  formed  in  the  fashion 
of  a  cone,  that  grow  to  the  surface  of  several  rocks, 
and  immediately  die  upon  their  being  severed  from 
the  place  where  they  grow.  There  are  many  other 
creatures  but  one  remove  from  these,  which  have  no 
other  sense  besides  that  of  feehng  and  taste.  Others 
have  still  an  additional  one  of  hearing ;  others  of 
smell,  and  others  of  sight.  It:  is  wonderful  to  ob- 
serve by  what  a  gradual  progress  the  world  of  life 
advances  through  a  prodigious  variety  of  species, 
before  a  creature  is  formed  that  is  complete  in  all 
its  senses ;  and  even  among  these  there  is  such  a 
different  degree  of  perfection  in  the  sense  which 
one  animal  enjoys  beyond  what  appears  in  another, 


254  SPECTATOR.  NO.    519. 

that,  though  the  sense  in  different  animals  he  dis- 
tinguished hy  the  same  common  denomination,  it 
seems  almost  of  a  different  nature.  If  after  this 
we  look  into  the  several  inward  perfections  of  cun- 
ning and  sagacity,  or  what  we  generally  call  in- 
stinct, we  find  them  rising  after  the  same  manner 
imperceptibly  one  above  another,  and  receiving  ad- 
ditional improvements,  according  to  the  species  in 
which  they  are  implanted.  This  progress  in  nature 
is  so  very  gradual,  that  the  most  perfect  of  an  in- 
ferior species  comes  very  near  to  the  most  imper- 
fect of  that  which  is  immediately  above  it. 

The  exuberant  and  overflowing  goodness  of  the 
Supreme  Being,  whose  mercy  extends  to  all  his 
works,  is  plainly  seen,  as  I  have  before  hinted,  from 
his  having  made  so  very  little  matter,  at  least  what 
falls  within  our  knowledge,  that  does  not  swarm 
with  life.  Nor  is  his  goodness  less  seen  in  the  di- 
versity than  in  the  multitude  of  living  creatures. 
Had  he  only  made  one  species  of  animals,  none  of 
the  rest  would  have  enjoyed  the  happiness  of  ex- 
istence :  he  has,  therefore,  specified  in  his  creation 
every  degree  of  life,  every  capacity  of  being.  The 
whole  chasm  in  nature,  from  a  plant  to  a  man,  is 
filled  up  with  divers  kinds  of  creatures,  rising  one 
over  another,  by  such  a  gentle  and  easy  ascent,  that 
the  little  transitions  and  deviations  from  one  species 
to  anotlier  are  almost  insensible.  The  intermedi- 
ate space  is  so  well  husbanded  and  managed,  that 
there  is  scarce  a  degree  of  perception  which  does 
not  appear  in  some  one  part  of  the  world  of  life. 
Is  the  goodness  or  wisdom  of  the  Divine  Being 
more  manifested  in  this  his  proceeding? 

There  is  a  consequence,  besides  those  I  have  al- 
ready mentioned,  which  seems  very  naturally  dedu- 
cible  from  the  foregoing  considerations.  If  the  scale 


NO.    519.  SPECTATOR.  255 

of  being  rises  by  such  a  regular  progress  so  high  as 
man,  we  may,  by  a  parity  of  reason,  suppose  that  it 
still  proceeds  gradually  through  those  beings  which 
are  of  a  superior  nature  to  him ;  since  there  is  an  in- 
finitely greater  space  and  room  for  different  degrees 
of  perfection  between  the  Supreme  Being  and  man, 
than  between  man  and  the  most  despicable  insect. 
This  consequence  of  so  great  a  variety  of  beings 
which  are  superior  to  us,  from  that  variety  which  is 
inferior  to  us,  is  made  by  Mr.  Locke,  in  a  passage 
which  I  shall  here  set  down,  after  having  premised 
that,  notwithstanding  there  is  such  infinite  room  be- 
tween man  and  his  Maker  for  the  creative  power 
to  exert  itself  in,  it  is  impossible  that  it  should  ever 
be  filled  up,  since  there  will  be  still  an  infinite  gap 
or  distance  between  the  highest  created  being  and 
the  Power  which  produced  him. 

"  That  there  should  be  more  species  of  intelligent 
creatures  above  us,  than  there  are  of  sensible  and 
material  below  us,  is  probable  to  me  from  hence  ; 
that  in  all  the  visible  corporeal  world  we  see  no 
chasms,  or  no  gaps.  All  quite  down  from  us  the 
descent  is  by  easy  steps,  and  a  continued  series  of 
things,  that  in  each  remove  diifer  very  little  one 
from  the  other.  There  are  fishes  that  have  wings, 
and  are  not  strangers  to  the  airy  region  ;  and  there 
are  some  birds  that  are  inhabitants  of  the  water, 
whose  blood  is  cold  as  fishes,  and  their  flesh  so  like 
in  taste,  that  the  scrupulous  are  allowed  them  on 
fish  days.  There  are  animals  so  near  of  kin  both  to 
birds  and  beasts,  that  they  are  in  the  middle  be- 
tween both.  Amphibious  animals  link  the  terrestrial 
and  aquatic  together.  Seals  live  at  land  and  at  sea, 
and  porpoises  have  the  warm  blood  and  entrails  of 
a  hog;  not  to  mention  what  is  confidently  reported 
of  mermaids,  or  sea-men,  there  are  some  brutes  that 


2.3G  SPECTATOR.  NO.   519 

seem  to  have  as  inuch  knowledge  and  reason  as 
some  that  are  called  men  ;  and  the  aninial  and  ve- 
getable kingdoms  are  so  nearly  joined,  that  it'  you 
will  take  the  lowest  of  one,  and  the  highest  of  the 
other,  there  will  scarce  be  perceived  any  great  dif- 
ference between  them ;  and  so  on,  till  we  come  to 
the  lowest  and  the  most  inorganical  parts  of  matter, 
we  shall  find  everywhere  that  the  several  species 
are  linked  together,  and  diflfer  but  in  almost  insen- 
sible degrees.  And,  when  we  consider  the  infinite 
power  and  wisdom  of  the  Maker,  we  have  I'eason  to 
think  that  it  is  suitable  to  the  magnificent  harmony 
of  the  universe,  and  the  great  design  and  infinite 
goodness  of  the  architect,  that  the  species  of  crea- 
tures should  also  by  gentle  degrees  ascend  upward 
from  us  toward  his  infinite  perfection,  as  we  see 
they  gradually  descend  from  us  downward :  which 
if  it  be  probable,  we  have  reason  then  to  be  persuad- 
ed that  there  are  far  more  species  of  creatures 
above  us  than  there  are  beneath ;  we  being  in  de- 
grees of  perfection  much  more  remote  from  the  in- 
finite being  of  God,  than  we  are  fi'om  the  lowest 
state  of  being,  and  that  which  approaches  nearest 
to  nothing.  And  yet  of  all  those  distinct  species  we 
have  no  clear  distinct  ideas." 

In  this  system  of  being,  there  is  no  creature  so 
wonderful  in  its  nature,  and  which  so  much  de- 
serves our  particular  attention,  as  man,  who  fills  up 
the  middle  space  between  the  animal  and  intellect- 
ual nature,  the  visible  and  invisible  world,  and  is 
that  link  in  the  chain  of  beings  which  has  been  often 
termed  the  nexus  utriusque  mundi.  So  that  he,  who 
in  one  respect,  is  associated  with  angels  and  arch- 
angels, may  look  upon  a  Being  of  infinite  perfection 
as  his  father,  and  the  higliest  order  of  spirits  as  his 
brethren,  may  in  another  respect  say  to  corruption, 


NO.    o20.  SPECTATOR.  257 

."  Thou  art  my  father ;  and  to  the  worm,  Thou  art 
my  mother  and  my  sister." 

0 


No.  520.    MONDAY,  OCTOBER  27,  1712. 


Quis  desiderio  sitpudor,  aut  modus 

Tarn  cliari  capitis  ? —  hor.  car.  i.  241. 

And  who  can  grieve  too  much?    What  time  shall  end 
Our  mourning  for  so  dear  a  friend '?  creech. 

"  MR.   SPECTATOR, 

"The  just  value  you  have  expressed  for  the  ma- 
trimonial state  is  the  reason  that  I  now  venture  to 
write  to  you,  without  fear  of  being  ridiculous,  and 
confess  to  you  that  though  it  is  three  months  since 
I  lost  a  very  agreeable  woman,  who  was  my  wife, 
my  sorrow  is  still  fresh  ;  and  I  am  often,  in  the  midst 
of  company,  upon  any  circumstance  that  revives  her 
memory,  with  a  reflection  what  she  would  say  or  do 
on  such  an  occasion  ;  I  say,  upon  any  occurrence  of 
that  nature,  which  I  can  give  you  a  sense  of,  though 
I  cannot  express  it  wholly,  I  am  all  over  softness, 
and  am  obliged  to  retire  and  give  way  to  a  few  sighs 
and  teai's  before  I  can  be  easy.  I  cannot  but  re- 
commend the  subject  of  male  widowhood  to  you,  and 
beg  of  you  to  touch  upon  it  by  the  first  opportunity. 
To  those  who  have  not  lived  like  husbands  during 
the  lives  of  iheir  spouses,  this  would  be  a  tasteless 
jumble  of  words ;  but  to  such,  of  whom  there  are 

VOL.    XI.  17 


258  SrP.CTATOR.  XO.    520. 

not  a  few,  who  have  enjoyed  tliat  state  with  tlie  sen- 
timents proper  for  it,  you  will  have  every  Hue,  which 
hits  the  sorrow,  attended  with  a  tear  of  pity  and 
con<;olntion ;  for  I  know  not  by  what  goodness  of 
Providence  it  is  that  every  gush  of  passion  is  a  step 
towards  the  relief  of  it;  and  there  is  a  certain  com- 
fort in  the  very  act  of  sorrowing,  which,  I  su|)pose, 
arises  from  a  secret  consciousness  in  the  mind,  tiiat 
the  afHiction  it  is  under  flows  from  a  virtuous  cause. 
M\'  cniicern  is  not,  indeed,  so  outrageous  jis  at  the 
first  transport;  for  I  think  it  has  subsided  rather 
into  a  soberer  state  of  mind  than  any  actual  pertur- 
bation of  spirit.  There  might  be  rules  formed  for 
men's  behaviour  on  this  great  incident,  to  bring  them 
from  that  misfortune  into  the  condition  I  am  at  pre- 
sent ;  which  is,  I  think,  that  my  sorrow  has  convert- 
ed all  roughness  of  temper  into  meekness,  good- 
nature, and  complacency.  But  indeed,  when  in  a 
serious  and  lonely  hour  I  present  my  departed  con- 
sort to  my  imagination,  with  that  air  of  persuasion  ' 
in  her  countenance  when  I  have  been  in  passion, 
that  sweet  affability  when  I  have  been  in  good- 
humour,  that  tender  compassion  when  I  have  had 
any  thing  which  gave  me  uneasiness ;  I  confess  to 
you  I  am  inconsolable,  and  my  eyes  gush  with  grief, 
as  if  I  had  seen  her  but  just  then  expire.  In  this 
condition  I  am  broken  in  upon  by  a  charming  young 
woman,  my  daughter,  who  is  the  picture  of  what 
her  mother  was  on  her  wedding-day.  The  good  girl 
strives  to  comfort  me  ;  but  how  shall  I  let  you  know 
that  all  the  comfort  she  gives  me  is  to  make  my  tears 
flow  more  easily?  The  child  knows  she  quickens 
my  sorrows,  and  rejoices  my  heart  at  tiie  same  time. 
Oh,  ye  learned !  tell  me  by  what  word  to  speak  a 
motion  of  the  soul  for  which  there  is  no  name.  When 
she  kneels,  and  bids   me  be  comforted,  she  is  my 


NO.    520.  SPECTATOR.  259 

child ;  when  T  take  her  in  my  arms,  and  bid  her  say 
no  more,  she  is  my  very  wife,  and  is  the  very  com- 
forter I  lament  the  loss  of.  I  banish  her  the  room, 
and  weep  aloud  that  I  have  lost  her  mother,  and 
that  I  have  her. 

"  Mr.  Spectator,  I  wish  it  were  possible  for  you 
to  have  a  sense  of  these  pleasing  perplexities ;  you 
might  communicate  to  the  guilty  part  of  mankind 
that  they  are  incapable  of  the  happiness  which  is  in 
the  very  sorrows  of  the  virtuous. 

"  But  pray  spare  me  a  little  longer  ;  give  me  leave 
to  tell  you  the  manner  of  her  death.  She  took  leave 
of  all  her  family,  and  bore  the  vain  application  of 
medicines  with  the  greatest  patience  imaginable. 
When  the  physician  told  her  she  must  certainly  die, 
she  desired  as  well  as  she  could,  that  all  who  were 
present  except  myself,  might  depart  the  room.  She 
said  she  had  nothing  to  say,  for  she  was  resigned, 
and  I  knew  all  she  knew  that  concerned  us  in  this 
world ;  but  she  desired  to  be  alone,  that  in  the  pre- 
sence of  God  only  she  might,  without  interruption, 
do  her  last  duty  to  me,  of  thanking  me  for  all  my 
kindness  to  her ;  adding  that  she  hoped  in  my  last 
moments  I  should  feel  the  same  comfort  for  my 
goodness  to  her,  as  she  did  in  that  she  had  acquitted 
herself  with  honour,  truth,  and  virtue,  to  me. 

"  I  curb  myself,  and  will  not  tell  you  that  this 
kindness  cut  my  heart  in  twain,  when  I  expected 
an  accusation  for  some  passionate  starts  of  mine,  in 
some  parts  of  our  time  together,  to  say  nothing  but 
thank  me  for  the  good,  if  there  was  any  good  suit- 
able to  her  own  excellence !  All  that  I  had  ever 
said  to  her,  all  the  circumstances  of  sorrow  and  joy 
between  us,  crowded  upon  my  mind  in  the  same  in- 
stant ;  and  when,  immediately  after,  I  saw  the  pangs 
of  death  come  upon    that  dear  body  which  I  had 


260  SPECTATOR.  NO.    520. 

often  embraced  with  transport ;  when  I  saw  those 
clierishing  eyes  begin  to  be  ghastly,  and  their  hist 
struggle  to  be  to  fix  themselves  on  me,  how  did  I 
lose  all  patience !  She  expired  in  ray  arms,  and  in 
my  distraction  I  thought  I  saw  her  bosom  still  heave. 
Tiiere  was  certainly  life  yet  still  left.  I  cried,  '  She 
just  now  spoke  to  me.'  But,  alas!  I  grew  giddy, 
and  all  things  moved  about  me,  from  the  distemper 
of  my  own  head  ;  for  the.  best  of  women  was  breath- 
less land  gone  forever. 

"  Now  the  doctrine  I  would,  methinks,  have  you 
raise  from  this  account  I  have  given  you,  is,  that 
there  is  a  certain  equanimity  in  those  who  are  good 
and  just,  which  runs  into  their  very  sorrow,  and  dis- 
appoints the  force  of  it.  Though  they  must  pass 
through  afflictions  in  common  with  all  who  are  in 
human  nature,  yet  their  conscious  integrity  shall 
undermine  their  affliction  ;  nay,  that  very  affliction 
shall  add  force  to  their  integrity,  from  a  reflection 
of  the  use  of  virtue  in  the  hour  of  affliction.  I  sat 
down  with  a  design  to  put  you  upon  giving  us  rules 
how  to  overcome  such  griefs  as  these,  but  I  should 
rather  advise  you  to  teach  men  to  be  capable  of 
them. 

"  You  men  of  letters  have  what  you  call  the  fine 
taste  in  your  apprehensions  of  what  is  properly  done 
or  said.  There  is  something  like  this  deeply  grafted 
in  the  soul  of  him  who  is  honest  and  faithful  in  all 
his  thoughts  and  actions.  Every  thing  which  is 
false,  vicious,  or  unworthy,  is  despicable  to  him, 
though  all  the  world  should  approve  it.  At  the 
same  time,  he  has  the  most  lively  sensibility  in  all 
enjoyments  and  sufferings  which  it  is  proper  for  him 
to  have  where  any  duty  of  life  is  concerned.  To 
want  sorrow  when  you  in  decency  and  truth  should 
be  afflicted,  is,  I  should  think,  a  greater  instance  of 


NO.    521.  SPECTATOR.  261 

a  man's  being  a  blockhead  than  not  to  know  the 
beauty  of  any  passage  in  Virgil.  You  have  not  yet 
observed,  Mr.  Spectator,  that  the  fine  gentlemen  of 
this  age  set  up  for  hardness  of  heart ;  and  humanity 
has  very  little  share  in  their  pretences.  He  is  a 
brave  fellow  who  is  always  ready  to  kill  a  man  he 
hates,  but  he  does  not  stand  in  the  same  degree  of 
esteem  who  laments  for  the  woman  he  loves.  I 
should  fancy  you  might  work  up  a  thousand  pretty 
thoughts,  by  reflecting  upon  the  persons  most  suscep- 
tible of  the  sort  of  sorrow  I  have  spoken  of;  and  I 
dare  say  you  will  find  upon  examination  that  they 
are  the  wisest  and  the  bravest  of  mankind  who  are 
most  capable  of  it.  ' 

"  I  am.  Sir, 

"  Your  humble  servant, 

"  Norwich,  7°  Octobris,  1712."  "  F.  J." 

T 


No.  521.     TUESDAY,  OCTOBER  28,  1712. 


Vera  redit  fades,  dissimulata  jierit.  p.  aeb. 

The  real  face  returns,  the  counterfeit  is  lost. 
"  MR.    SPECTATOK, 

"  I  HAVE  been  for  many  years  loud  in  this  asser- 
tion, that  there  are  very  few  that  can  see  or  hear ; 
I  mean,  that  can  report  what  they  have  seen  or 
heard;  and  this  through  incapacity  or  prejudice, 
one  of  which  disable.-;  almost  every  man  who  talks 


262  Sl'KCTATOK.  NO.   521. 

to  you  Ihiiii  rej)reseiitiag  things  as  he  ought.  For 
which  iva.-oii  1  aui  come  to  a  resolution  of  believing 
nothing  I  liear;  and  I  contemn  the  men  given  to 
narration  under  the  appellation  of  '  matter-of-fact 
men  :  *  and,  according  to  me,  a  matter-of-fact  man 
is  one  whose  life  and  conversation  is  spent  in  the 
I'eporl  of  what  is  not  matter  of  fact. 

"  I   remember   when   Prince  Eugene   was   here, 
there  was  no  knowing  his  height  -or  figure,  till  you, 
Mr.  Spectator,  gave  the  public  satisfaction  in  that 
matter.      In   relations,  the  force  of  the   expression 
lies  very  often  more  in  the  look,  tlie  tone  of  voice, 
or  the  gesture,  than  the  words  themselves  ;  which 
being   repeated  in   any   other   manner   by  the  un- 
discerning,  bear  a  very  different  interpretation  from 
their  original  meaning.     I  must  confess,  I  formerly 
have  turned  this  humour  of  mine  to  very  good  ac- 
count ;  for  whenever  I  heard  any  narrations  uttered 
with  extraordinary  vehemence,  and  grounded  upon 
considerable  authority,  I  was  always  ready  to  lay 
any  wager  that  it  was  not  so.     Indeed,  I  never  pre- 
tended to  be  so  rash  as  to  fix  the  matter  any  par- 
ticular way  in  opposition  to  theirs  ;  but  as  there  are 
a  hundred  ways   of  any    thing  happening,   besides 
that  it  lias  happened,  I  only  controverted  its  falling 
out  in  tliat  one  manner  as  they  settled  it,  and  left 
it  to  the  ninety-nine  other  ways,  and  consequently 
had  more  probability  of  success.    I  had  arrived  at  a 
particular  skill  in  warming  a  man  so  far  in  his  nar- 
ration as  to  make  him  throw  in  a  little  of  the  mar- 
vellous,  and   then,   if  he   has   much  fire,  the  next 
degree  is  the  imi)ossible.     Now  this    is  always  the 
time  for  fixing  the  wager.      But  this   requires   the 
nicest    management,   otherwise  very  probably   the 
dispute  may  arise  to  the  old  determination  by  battle. 
In  these  conceits  I  have  been  very  fortunate,  and 


NO.    521.  SPECTATOK.  263 

have  won  some  wagers  of  those  who  have  profess- 
edly valued  themselves  upon  intelligence,  and  have 
put  themselves  to  great  charge  and  expense  to  be 
misinformed  considerably  sooner  than  the  i-est  of 
the  world. 

"  Having  got  a  comfortable  sum  by  this  my  oppo- 
sition to  public  report,  I  have  brought  myself  now 
to  so  great  a  perfection  in  inattention,  more  espe- 
cially to  party-relations,  that,  at  the  same  time  I 
seem  with  greedy  ears  to  devour  up  the  discourse,  I 
certainly  don't  know  one  word  of  it,  but  pursue  my 
own  course  of  thought,  whether  upon  business  or 
amusement,  with  much  tranquillity ;  I  say  inatten- 
tion, because  a  late  act  of  parliament*  has  secured 
all  party-liars  from  the  penalty  of  a  wager,  and  con- 
sequently made  it  unprofitable  to  attend  to  them. 
However,  good-breeding  obliges  a  man  to  maintain 
the  figure  of  the  keenest  attention,  the  true  posture 
of  which  in  a  coffee-house  I  take  to  consist  in  leaning 
over  a  table  with  the  edge  of  it  pressing  hard  upon 
your  stomach ;  for  the  more  pain  the  narration  is 
received  with,  the  more  gracious  is  your  bending 
over  ;  besides  that  the  narrator  thinks  you  forget 
your  pain  by  the  pleasure  of  hearing  him. 

"Fort  Knock  has  occasioned  several  very  per- 
plexed and  inelegant  heats  and  animosities  ;  and 
there  was  one  t'other  day,  in  a  coffee-house  where 
I  was,  that  took  upon  him  to  clear  that  business  to 
me,  for  he  said  he  was  there.  I  knew  him  to  be 
that  sort  of  man  that  had  not  strength  of  capacity 
to  be  informed  of  any  thing  that  depended  merely 
upon  his  being  an  eye-witness,  and  therefore  was 
fully  satisfied  he  could  give  me  no  information,  for 

*  Stat.  7  Anne,  cap.  17. — By  it  all  wagers  laid  upon  a  con- 
tingency relating  to  the  war  with  France  were  declared  to  be 
7oid. 


264  SPECTATOR. 


NO.    521. 


the  very  same  reason  he  believed  he  eoiild,  for  he 
was  there.  However,  I  lieard  liirn  with  tlie  same 
greediness  as  Sliaksjjeare  describes  in  the  fbllo\^- 
ing  hnes : 

I  saw  a  smith  stand  on  his  hammer,  tiius, 
With  opeu  mouth,  swallowiug  a  tailor's  news. 

"  I  confess  of  late  I  have  not  been  so  much  amazed 
at  the  declaimers  in  cotFee-houses  as  I  tbrmerly  was, 
being  satisfied  that  they  expect  to  be  I'ewarded  for 
their  vociferations.  Of  these  liars  there  are  two 
sorts  :  the  genius  of  the  first  consists  in  much  im- 
pudence, and  a  strong  memory  ;  the  others  have 
added  to  these  qualifications  a  good  understanding 
and  smooth  language.  These,  therefore,  have  only 
certain  heads,  whicli  they  are  as  eloquent  upon  as 
they  can,  and  may  be  called  '  embellishers ; '  thb 
others  repeat  only  what  they  hear  from  others  as 
literally  as  their  parts  or  zeal  will  permit,  and  are 
called  '  leciters.'  Here  was  a  fellow  in  town  some 
years  ago,  who  used  to  divert  himself  by  telling  a 
lie  at  Charing-cross  in  the  morning  at  eight  of  the 
clock,  and  then  following  it  through  all  parts  of  the 
town  till  eight  at  night ;  at  which  time  he  came  to 
a  club  of  his  friends,  and  diverted  tlum  with  an  ac- 
count what  censure  it  had  at  Will's  in  Covent- 
garden,  how  dangerous  it  was  believed  to  be  at 
Child's,  and  what  inference  they  drew  from  it  with 
relation  to  stocks  at  Jonathan's.  I  have  had  the 
honour  to  travel  with  this  gentleman  I  speak  of  in 
search  of  one  of  his  falsehoods  ;  and  have  been  pre- 
sent when  they  have  described  the  very  man  they 
have  spoken  to,  as  him  who  first  reported  it,  tall 
or  short,  black  or  fair,  a  gentleman  or  a  ragamuffin, 
according  as  they  liked  the  intelligence.  I  heard  one 
of  our  ingenious  writers  of  news  say,  that,  when  he 


NO.    522.     '  SPECTATOR.  265 

has  had  a  customer  come  with  an  advertisement 
of  an  apprentice  or  a  wife  run  away,  he  has  desired 
the  advertiser  to  compose  himself  a  little  before  he 
dictated  the  description  of  the  offender ;  for  when  a 
person  is  put  into  a  public  paper  by  a  man  who  is 
angry  with  him,  the  real  description  of  such  person 
is  hid  in  the  deformity  with  which  the  angry  man 
described  him  ;  therefore  this  fellow  always  made  his 
customers  describe  him  as  he  would  the  day  before 
he  offended,  or  else  he  was  sure  he  would  never 
find  him  out.  These  and  many  other  hints  I  could 
suggest  to  you  for  the  elucidation  of  all  fictions  ;  but 
I  leave  it  to  your  own  sagacity  to  improve  or  ne- 
glect this  speculation. 

"  I  am.  Sir, 
"  Your  most  obedient, 
T  "  humble  servant." 


No.  522.  WEDNESDAY,  OCTOBER  29,  1712. 


— Adjuro  Decs,  nunquam  earn  me  deseriurum, 
Non,  si  capiunclos  niihi  sciam  esse  inimicos  omnes  homines. 
Banc  mihi  expetivi,  cantic/il,  conveniuni  mores.     Valeant, 
Qui  inter  nos  dissidium  volant.     Hanc,  nisi  mors,  mi  adimet 
nemo.  ter.  ande.  act.  iv.  sc.  2.  11. 

I  swear  never  to  forsake  her ;  no,  though  I  were  sure  to  make 
all  men  my  enemies.  Her  I  desired;  her  I  have  obtained; 
our  humours  agree.  Perish  all  those  who  would  separate  us ! 
Death  alone  shall  deprive  me  of  her. 

I  SHOULD  esteem  myself  a  very  happy  man  if 
my  speculations  could  in  the  least  contribute  to  the 


2GG  SPECTATOR.  NO.    522. 

rectifying  the  conduct  of  my  readers  in  one  of  the 
most  important  atiairs  of  life,  to  wit,  tlieir  choice  in 
marriage-  This  state  is  the  foundation  of  commu- 
nity, and  the  chief  band  ot  society  ;  and  I  do  not 
think  I  can  be  too  frequent  on  subjects  which  may 
give  light  to  my  unmarried  readers  in  a  particular 
which  is  so  essential  to  their  following  happiness  or 
misery.  A  virtuous  disposition,  a  good  understand- 
ing, an  agreeable  jjierson,  and  an  easy  fortune,  are 
the  things  which  should  be  chiefly  regarded  on  this 
occasion.  Because  my  present  view  is  to  direct  a 
young  lady,  who  I  think  is  now  in  doubt  whom  to 
take  of  many  lovers,  I  shall  talk  at  this  time  to  my 
female  reader.  The  advantages,  as  I  was  going  to 
say,  of  sense,  beauty,  and  riches,  are  what  are  cer- 
tainly the  chief  motives  to  a  prudent  young  woman 
of  fortune  for  changing  her  condition  ;  but,  as  she 
is  to  have  her  eye  upon  each  of  these,  she  is  to  ask 
herself,  whether  the  man  who  has  most  of  these 
recommendations  in  the  lump  is  not  the  most  desi- 
rable. He  that  has  excellent  talents,  with  a  mo- 
derate estate,  and  an  agreeable  person,  is  preferable 
to  him  who  is  only  i-ich,  if  it  were  only  that  good 
faculties  may  purchase  riches,  but  riches  cannot 
purchase  worthy  endowments.  I  do  not  mean  that 
wit,  and  a  capacity  to  entertain,  is  what  should  be 
highly  valued,  except  it  is  founded  upon  good- 
nature and  humanity.  There  are  many  ingenious 
men,  whose  abilities  do  little  else  but  make  them- 
selves and  those  about  them  uneasy.  Such  are 
those  who  are  far  gone  in  the  pleasures  of  the  town, 
who  cannot  support  life  without  quick  sensations  and 
gay  reflections,  and  are  strangers  to  tranc|uillity,  to 
right  reason,  and  a  calm  motion  of  spirits,  without 
transport  or  dejection.  These  ingenious  men,  of 
all  men  living,  are  most  to  be  avoided  by  her  who 


NO.   522.  SPECTATOR.  267 

would  be  happy  in  a  husband.  They  are  imme- 
diately sated  with  possession,  and  must  necessarily 
fly  to  new  acquisitions  of  beauty  to  pass  away  the 
wiling  moments  and  intervals  of  life  ;  for  with  them 
every  hour  is  heavy  that  is  not  joyful.  But  there 
is  a  sort  of  man  of  wit  and  sense,  that  can  reflect 
upon  his  own  make,  and  that  of  his  partner,  with 
the  eyes  of  reason  and  honour,  and  who  believes  he 
offends  against  both  tliese,  if  he  does  not  look  upon 
the  woman  wlio  chose  him  to  be  under  his  protec- 
tion in  sickness  and  health,  with  the  utmost  grati- 
tude, whether  from  that  moment  she  is  shining  or 
defective  in  person  or  mind  :  I  say,  tliere  are  those 
who  think  themselves  bound  to  supply  with  good- 
nature the  failings  of  those  who  love  them,  and 
who  always  think  those  the  objects  of  love  and 
pity  who  came  to  their  arms  the  objects  of  joy  and 
admix'ation. 

Of  this  latter  sort  is  Lysander,  a  man  of  wit, 
learning,  sobriety,  and  good-nature ;  of  birth  and 
estate  below  no  woman  to  accept ;  and  of  whom  it 
might  be  said,  should  he  succeed  in  his  present 
wishes,  his  mistress  raised  his  fortune,  but  not  that 
she  made  it.  When  a  woman  is  deliberating  with 
herself  whom  she  shall  choose  of  many  near  each 
other  in  other  pretensions,  certainly  he  of  best  un- 
derstanding is  to  be  preferred.  •  Life  hangs  heavily 
in  the  repeated  conversation  of  one  who  has  no 
imagination  4;o  be  fired  at  the  several  occasions  and 
objects  which  come  before  him,  or  who  cannot  strike 
out  of  his  reflections  new  paths  of  pleasing  discourse. 
Iloifest  Will  Thrash  and  his  wife,  though  not  mar- 
ried above  four  months,  have  scarce  had  a  word  to 
say  to  each  other  this  six  weeks ;  and  one  cannot 
form  to  one's  self  a  sillier  picture  than  these  two 
creatures,  in  solemn  pomp  and  plenty,  unable  to  en- 


2C8  SPECTATOR.  SO.    522. 

joy  their  fortune-^,  and  at  a  full  stop  among  a  crowd 
of  servants,  to  whose  taste  of  life  they  are  beliolden 
for  the  little  satisfactions  by  which  they  can  be  un- 
derstood to  be  so  much  as  barely  in  being.  The 
hours  of  the  day,  the  distinctions  of  noon  and  night, 
dinner  and  supper,  are  the  greatest  notices  thev  are 
capable  of.  This  is  perhaps  representing  the  life 
of  a  very  modest  woman,  joined  to  a  dull  fellow, 
more  insipid  than  it  really  deserves  ;  but  I  am  sure 
it  is  not  to  exalt  the  commerce  with  an  ingenious 
companion  too  high,  to  say  that  every  new  accident 
or  object,  which  comes  into  such  a  gentleman's 
way,  gives  his  wife  new  pleasures  and  satisfactions. 
The  approbation  of  his  words  and  actions  is  a  con- 
tinual new  feast  to  her ;  nor  can  she  enough  applaud 
her  good  fortune  in  having  her  life  varied  every 
•hour,  her  mind  more  improved,  and  her  heart  more 
glad,  from  every  circumstance  which  they  meet  with. 
He  will  layout  his  invention  in  forming  new  plea- 
sures and  amusements,  and  make  the  fortune  she 
has  brought  him  subservient  to  the  honour  and  re- 
putation of  her  and  hers.  A  man  of  sense,  who  is 
thus  obliged,  is  ever  contriving  the  happinf^ss  of 
her  who  did  him  so  great  a  distinction;  while  the 
fool  is  ungrateful  without  vice,  and  never  returns  a 
favour  because  he  is  not  sensible  of  it.  I  would, 
methinks,  have  so  much  to  say  for  myself,  that,  if 
I  fell  into  the  hands  of  him  who  treated  me  ill,  he 
should  be  sensible  when  he  did  so.  His  conscience 
should  be  of  my  side,  whatever  became  of  his  in- 
clination. I  do  not  know  but  it  is  the  insipid  choice 
which  has  been  made  by  those  who  have  the  care 
of  young  women,  that  the  marriage  state  itself  has 
been  liable  to  so  much  ridicule.  But  a  well-chosen 
love,  moved  by  passion  on  both  sides,  and  perfected 
by  the  generosity  of  one   party,  must   be   adorned 


NO.    522.  SPECTATOR.  269 

with  SO  many  handsome  incidents  on  the  other  side, 
that  every  particular  couple  would  be  an  example 
in  many  circumstances  to  all  the  rest  of  the  species, 
I  shall  end  the  chat  upon  this  subject  with  a  couple 
of  letters ;  one  from  a  lover,  who  is  very  well 
acquainted  with  the  way  of  bargaining  on  these 
occasions ;  and  the  other  from  his  rival,  who  has  a 
less  estate,  but  great  gallantry  of  temper.  As  to 
my  man  of  prudence,  who  makes  love,  as  he  says, 
as  if  he  were  already  a  father,  and,  laying  aside  the 
passion,  comes  to  the  reason  of  the  thing : — 


••  My  counsel  has  perused  the  inventory  of  your 
estiite,  and  considered  what  estate  you  have,  which 
it  seems  is  only  yours,  and  to  the  male  heirs  of  your 
body  ;  but,  in  default  of  such  issue,  to  the  right 
heirs  of  your  uncle  Edward  forever.  Thus,  madam, 
I  am  advised  you  cannot,  the  remainder  not  being 
in  you,  dock  the  entail ;  by  which  means  my  estate, 
which  is  fee  simple,  wUl  come  by  the  settlement 
proposed  to  your  children  begotten  by  me,  whether 
they  are  males  or  females  ;  but  my  children  begotten 
upon  you  will  not  inherit  your  lands,  except  I  beget 
a  son.  Now,  madam,  since  things  are  so,  you  are 
a  woman  of  that  prudence,  and  understand  the  world 
so  well,  as  not  to  expect  I  should  give  you  more 
than  you  can  give  me. 
••  I  am.  Madam, 

"  with  great  respect, 

"  Your  most  obedient  humble  servant, 
'•  T.  W." 

The  other  lover's  estate  is  less  than  this  gentle- 
man's, but  he  expressed  himself  as  follows : — 


270  SnCCTATOR.  NO.    522. 

'•  MADAM, 

"I  luive  given  in  my  estate  to  your  counsel,  and 
desired  my  own  lawyer  to  insist  upon  no  terms 
which  your  friends  can  propose  for  your  certain 
ease  and  advantage  ;  for  indeed  I  have  no  notion  of 
malving  ditUculties  of  presenting  you  with  what  can- 
not make  me  happy  without  you. 

"  I  ain,  Madam, 
"  Your  most  devoted  Imrable  servant, 

"  B.  T." 

You  must  know  the  relations  have  met  upon  this  ; 
and.  the  girl,  being  mightily  taken  with  the  latter 
epistle,  she  is  laughed  out,  and  uncle  Edward  is  to 
be  dealt  with  to  make  her  a  suitaV)le  match  to  the 
worthy  gentleman  who  has  told  her  he  does  not  care 
a  farthing  for  her.  All  I  hope  for  is,  that  the  fair 
lady  will  make  use  of  the  first  light  night  to  show 
B.  "T.  she  understands  a  marriage  is  not  to  be  con- 
sidered as  a  common  bargain. 


NO.    523.  SPECTATOR.  271 


No.  523.     THURSDAY,  OCTOBER  30,  1712. 


— Mine  augur  Apollo, 
Nunc  LycicB  sortes,  nunc  et  Jove  missus  ab  ipso 
Interpres  divum  fert  horrida  jussaper  auras 
Scilicet  is  superis  labor. —  virg.  ^en.  iv.  376. 

Now  Lyciaii  lots,  and  now  the  Delian  god, 

Now  Hermes  is  employed  from  Jove's  abode, 

To  warn  him  hence ;  as  if  the  peaceful  state  • 

Of  heavenly  powers  were  touch'd  with  human  fate! 

DRYDEN. 

I  AM  always  highly  delighted  with  the  discovery 
of  any  rising  genius  among  my  countrymen.  For 
this  reason  I  have  read  over,  with  great  pleasure, 
the  late  miscellany  published  by  Mr.  Pope,  in  which 
thei'C  are  many  excellent  compositions  of  that  inge- 
nious gentleman.  I  have  had  a  pleasure  of  the 
same  kind  in  perusing  a  poem  that  is  just  published 
On  the  Prospect  of  Peace ;  *  and  which,  I  hope, 
will  meet  with  such  a  reward  from  its  patrons  as  so 
noble  a  performance  deserves.  I  was  particulai'ly 
well  pleased  to  find  that  the  author  had  not  amused 
himself  with  fables  out  of  the  pagan  theology,  and 
that  when  he  hints  at  any  thing  of  this  nature  he 
alludes  to  it  only  as  to  a  fable. 

Many  of  our  modern  authors,  whose  learning 
very  often  extends  no  further  than  Ovid's  Metamor- 
phoses, do  not  know  how  to  celebrate  a  great  man,' 
without  mixing  a  parcel  of  school-boy  tales  with  the 
recital  of  his  actions.     If  you  read  a  poem  on  a 

*  By  Mr.  Thomas  Tickell. 


272  SPECTATOR.  NO.    o2a 

fine  woman  among  the  autliors  of"  this  class,  you 
shall  see  that  it  turns  more  upon  Venus  or  Helen 
than  on  the  party  concerned.  1  have  known  a  copy 
of  verses  on  a  great  hero  highly  commended ;  but, 
upon  asking  to  hear  some  of  the  beautiful  passages, 
the  admirer  of  it  has  repeated  to  me  a  speech  of 
Apollo,  or  a  description  of  Polyphemus.  At  other 
times,  when  I  have  searched  for  the  actions  of  a 
great  man,  who  gave  a  subject  to  the  writer,  I  have 
been  entertained  with  the  exploits  of  a  river  god, 
or  have  been  forced  to  attend  a  Fury  in  her  mis- 
chievous progress,  from  one  end  of  the  poem  to  tiie 
otUer.  When  we  are  at  school,  it  is  necessary  for 
us  to  be  acquainted  with  the  system  of  pagan  the- 
ology ;  and  we  may  be  allowed  to  enliven  a  theme, 
or  point  an  epigram,  with  a  heathen  god ;  but  when 
we  would  write  a  manly  panegyric  that  should  carry 
in  it  all  the  colours  of  truth,  nothing  can  be  more 
ridiculous  than  to  have  recourse  to  our  Jupiters  and 
Junos. 

No  thought  is  beautiful  which  is  not  just ;  and 
no  thought  can  be  just  which  is  not  founded  in 
truth,  or  at  least  in  that  which  passes  for  such. 

In  mock  heroic  poems,  the  use  of  the  heathen  my- 
thology is  not  only  excusable,  but  graceful,  because 
it  is  the  design  of  such  compositions  to  divert,  by 
adapting  the  fabulous  machines  of  the  ancients  to 
low  subjects,  and  at  the  same  time  by  ridiculing 
such  kinds  of  machinery  in  modern  writers.  Jf  any 
are  of  opinion  that  there  is  a  necessity  of  admitting 
these  classical  legends  into  our  serious  compositions, 
in  order  to  give  them  a  more  poetical  turn,  I  would 
recommend  to  their  consideration  the  pastorals  of 
Mr.  Phillips.  One  would  have  thought  it  impossi- 
ble for  this  kind  of  poetry  to  have  subsisted  without 
fawns  and  satyrs,  wood-nymphs,  and  water-nymphs, 


NO.   523.  SPECTATOR.  27o 

with  all  the  tribe  of  rural  deities.  But  we  see  he 
has  given  a  new  life  and  a  more  natural  beauty  to 
this  way  of  writing,  by  substituting  in  the  place  of 
these  antiquated  fables  the  superstitious  mythology 
which  prevails  among  the  shephei'ds  of  our  own 
counti-y. 

Virgil  and  Homer  might  compliment  their  heroes, 
by  interweaving  the  actions  of  deities  with  theii* 
achievements ;  but  for  a  Christian  author  to^  write 
in  the  pagan  creed,  to  make  Prince  Eugene  a  fa- 
vourite of  Mars,  or  to  carry  on  a  correspondence 
between  Bellona  and  the  Marshal  de  Villars,  would 
be  downright  puerility,  and  unpardonable  in  a  poet 
that  is  past  sixteen.  It  is  want  of  sufficient  eleva- 
tion in  a  genius  to  describe  realities,  and  place  them 
in  a  shining  light,  that  makes  him  have  recourse  to 
such  trifling  antiquated  fables  ;  as  a  man  may  write 
a  fine  description  of  Bacchus  or  Apollo  that  does 
not  know  how  to  draw  the  character  of  any  of  his 
contemporaries. 

In  order,  therefore,  to  put  a  stop  to  this  absurd 
pi'actice,  I  shall  publish  the  following  edict,  by  vir- 
tue of  that  Spectatorial  authority  with  which  I 
stand  invested. 

"  Whereas  the  time  of  a  general  peace  is,  in  all 
appearance,  drawing  near,  being  informed  that  there 
are  several  ingenious  persons  who  intend  to  show 
their  talents  on  so  happy  an  occasion  ;  and  being 
willing,  as  much  as  in  me  lies,  to  prevent  that  effu- 
sion of  nonsense  which  we  have  good  cause  to  ap- 
prehend ;  I  do  hereby  strictly  require  every  person 
who  shall  write  on  this  subject,  to  remember  that 
he  is  a  Christian,  and  not  to  sacrifice  his  catechism 
to  his  poetry.  In  order  to  it,  I  do  expect  of  him  in 
the  first  place  to  make  his  own  poem,  without  de- 

VOL.   XI.  18 


274  SPECTATOK.  NO.   523. 

pending  upon  Phoebus  for  any  part  of  it,  or  calling 
out  for  aid  upon  any  one  of  the  Muses  by  name. 
I  do  likewise  positively  forbid  the  sending  of  Mer- 
cury with  any  particular  message  or  dispatch  re- 
lating to  the  peace,  and  shall  by  no  means  suffer 
Minerva  to  lake  upon  her  the  shape  of  any  plenipo- 
tentiary concerned  in  tliis  great  work.  I  do  further 
declare,  that  I  shall  not  allow  the  Destinies  to  have 
had  a  liand  in  the  deaths  of  the  several  thousands 
who  have  been  slain  in  the  late  war,  Ijeing  of  opi- 
nion that  all  such  deaths  may  be  very  well  accounted 
for  by  the  Christian  system  of  powder  and  ball.  I 
do,  therefore,  strictly  forbid  the  Fates  to  cut  the 
thread  of  man's  life  upon  any  pretence  whatsoever, 
unless  it  be  for  the  sake  of  the  rhyme.  And  where- 
as I  have  good  reason  to  fear  that  Neptune  will 
have  a  great  deal  of  business  on  his  liands,  in  seve- 
ral poems  which  we  may  now  suppose  are  upon  the 
anvil,  I  do  also  prohibit  his  appearance,  unless  it 
be  done  in  metaphor,  simile,  or  any  very  short  allu- 
sion ;  and  that  even  here,  he  be  not  permitted  to 
enter  but  with  great  caution  and  circumspection.  I 
desire  that  the  same  rule  may  be  extended  to  his 
whole  fraternity  of  heathen  gods ;  it  being  my  de- 
sign to  condemn  every  poem  to  tlie  flames  in  which 
Jupiter  thunders,  or  exercises  any  other  act  of  au- 
thority which  does  not  belong  to  liim :  in  short,  I 
expect  that  no  pagan  agent  shall  be  introduced,  or 
any  fact  related,  which  a  man  cannot  give  credit  to 
with  a  good  conscience.  Provided  always,  that 
nothing  herein  contained  shall  extend,  or  be  con- 
strued to  extend,  to  several  of  the  female  poets  in 
this  nation,  who  shall  be  still  left  in  full  possession 
of  their  gods  and  goddesses,  in  the  same  manner  as 
if  this  paper  had  never  been  written." 
0 


NO.    524.  SPECTATOR.  275 


No.  524.     FRIDAY,  OCTOBER  31,  1712. 


Nos  populo  damxis. —  sen. 

As  the  world  leads,  we  follow. 

When  I  fii-st  of  all  took  it  into  my  head  to  write 
dreams  and  visions,  I  determined  to  print  nothing 
of  that  nature  which  was  not  of  my  own  invention. 
But  several  laborious  dreamers  have  of  late  com- 
municated to  me  works  of  this  nature,  which,  for 
their  reputations  and  my  own,  I  have  hitherto  sup- 
pressed. Had  I  pi'inted  every  one  that  came  to  my 
hands,  my  book  of  speculations  would  have  been 
little  else  but  a  book  of  visions.  Some  of  my  cor- 
respondents have  indeed  been  so  very  modest  as  to 
offer  as  an  excuse  for  their  not  being  in  a  capacity 
to  dream  better.  I  have  by  me,  for  example,  the 
dream  of  a  young  gentleman  not  passed  fifteen ;  I 
have  likewise  by  me  the  dream  of  a  person  of 
quahty,  and  another  called  The  Lady's  Dream.  In 
these,  and  other  pieces  of  the  same  nature,  it  is 
supposed  the  usual  allowances  will  be  made  to  the 
age,  condition,  and  sex,  of  the  dreamer.  To  pre- 
vent this  inundation  of  dreams,  which  daily  flows 
in  upon  me,  I  shall  apply  to  all  dreamers  of  dreams 
the  advice  which  Epictetus  has  couched,  after  his 
manner,  in  a  very  simple  and  concise  precept. 
'  Never  tell  thy  dream,'  says  that  philosopher  ;  '  for 
though  thou  thyself  mayest  take  a  pleasure  in  tell- 
ing tliy  dream,  another  will   take  no    pleasure  in 


276  SPKCTATOU.  NO.    624 

hearing  it.'  After  this  siiuit  i)reface,  I  iiuist  do 
justice  to  two  or  liiiee  visions  which  I  have  hvteiy 
published,  and  which  I  have  owned  to  have  been 
wi'itten  by  other  liands.  I  shall  add  a  dream  to 
these  which  conies  to  me  irom  Scotland,  by  one 
who  declares  himself  of  that  country  ;  and,  for  all 
1  know,  may  be  second-sighted.  There  is,  indeed, 
something  in  it  of  the  spirit  of  John  Bunyan  ;  but 
at  the  same  time  a  certain  sublime  whicii  that  au- 
thor was  never  master  of.  I  shall  publish  it,  be- 
cause J  question  not  but  it  will  fall  in  with  the 
taste  of  all  my  popular  readers,  and  amuse  the 
imaginations  of  those  who  are  more  profound;  de- 
claring, at  the  same  time,  that  this  is  the  last  dream 
which  I  intend  to  publish  this  season. 


•'  I  was  last  Sunday  in  the  evening  led  into  a  se- 
rious reflection  on  the  reasonableness  of  virtue,  and 
great  folly  of  vice,  from  an  excellent  sermon  I  had 
heard  that  afternoon  in  my  parish  church.  Among 
other  observations  the  preacher  showed  us  that  the 
temptations  which  the  tempter  proposed  were  all  on 
a  supposition,  that  we  are  either  madmen  or  fools, 
or  wilii  an  intention  to  render  us  such;  that  in  no 
other  atfair  we  would  suffer  ourselves  to  be  thus  im- 
posed upon,  in  a  case  so  plainly  and  clearly  against 
our  visible  interest.  His  illustrations  and  arguments 
can'ied  so  much  persuasion  and  conviction  with 
them,  that  they  remained  a  considerable  while 
fresh,  and  working  in  my  memory  ;  till  at  last  the 
mind,  fatigued  with  thought,  gave  way  to  the  forci- 
ble oppressions  of  slumber  and  sleep  ;  whilst  fancy, 
unwilling  yet  to  drop  the  subject,  presented  rae  with 
the  Iblluwin'i  vision. 


NO.    524.  SPECTATOR.  277 

"  Methought  I  was  just  awoke  out  of  a  sleep 
that  I  could  never  rcmembei'  the  beginning  of ;  the 
place  where  I  found  myself  to  be  was  a  wide  and 
spacious  plain,  full  of  people  that  wandered  up  and 
down  through  sevei'al  beaten  paths,  whereof  some 
fevv  were  straight,  and  in  direct  lines,  but  most  of 
them  winding  and  turning  like  a  labyrinth  ;  but  yet 
it  appeared  to  me  afterwards  that  these  last  all  met 
in  one  issue,  so  that  many  that  seemed  to  steer 
quite  contrary  courses,  did  at  length  meet  and  face 
one  another,  to  the  no  little  amazement  of  many  of 
them. 

"  In  the  midst  of  the  plain  there  was  a  great  foun- 
tain ;  they  called  it  the  spring  of  Self-love :  out  of 
it  issued  two  rivulets  to  the  eastward  and  westward. 
The  name  of  the  first  was  Heavenly  Wisdom;  its 
water  was  wonderfully  clear,  but  of  a  yet  more  won- 
derful effect ;  the  other's  name  was  Worldly  Wis- 
dom ;  its  water  was  thick,  and  yet  far  from  being 
dormant  or  stagnating,  for  it  was  in  a  continual 
violent  agitation  ;  which  kept  the  travellers,  whom  I 
shall  mention  by  and  by,  from  being  sensible  of  the 
foulness  and  thickness  of  the  water :  which  had  this 
effect,  that  it  intoxicated  those  who  drank  it,  and 
made  'em  mistake  every  object  that  lay  before  them. 
Both  rivulets  were  parted  near  their  springs  into  so 
many  others,  as  there  wei'e  straight  and  crooked 
paths,  which  they  attended  all  along  to  their  respec- 
tive issues. 

"  I  observed  from  the  several  paths,  many  now 
and  then  diverting,  to  refresh  and  otherwise  qualify 
themselves  for  their  journey,  to  the  respective  rivu- 
lets that  ran  near  them ;  they  contracted  a  very  ob- 
servable courage  and  steadiness  in  what  they  were 
about,  by  drinking  these  waters.  At  the  end  of  the 
perspective  of  every  straight  path,  all  which  did  end 


278  SPECTATOR.  NO.    524. 

in  one  issue  and  point,  ajj^eured  a  high  pillar,  all 
of  diamond,  casting  rays  as  bright  as  tiiose  of  the 
sun  into  the  paths  :  wliicli  rays  had  also  certain  sym- 
pathizing and  alluring  virtues  in  them,  so  that  who- 
soever had  made  some  considerable  progress  in  his 
journey  onwards  towards  the  pillar,  by  the  repeated 
impression  of  these  rays  upon  him,  was  wrought 
into  an  habitual  inclination  and  conversion  of  his 
sigiit  towards  it,  so  that  it  grew  at  last  in  a  manner 
natural  to  him  to  look  and  gaze  upon  it,  whei-eby 
he  was  kept  steady  in  the  straight  paths,  which 
alone  led  to  that  radiant  body,  the  beholding 
of  which  was  now  grown  a  gratification  to  his 
nature. 

"  At  the  issue  of  the  crooked  paths  there  was  a 
great  black  tower,  out  of  the  centre  of  which 
streamed  a  long  succession  of  flames,  which  did 
rise  even  above  the  clouds ;  it  gave  a  very  great 
light  to  the  whole  plain,  which  did  sometimes  out- 
shine the  light,  and  oppressed  the  beams  of  the  ada- 
mantine pillar;  though  by  the  observation  I  made 
afterwards,  it  appeared  that  it  was  not  from  any  di- 
minution of  light,  but  tliat  this  lay  in  the  travellers, 
who  would  sometimes  step  out  of  the  straight  paths, 
where  they  lost  the  full  prospect  of  the  I'adiant  pil- 
lar, and  saw  it  but  sideways ;  but  the  great  light 
from  the  black  tower,  which  was  somewhat  particu- 
larly scorcliing  to  them,  would  generally  light  and 
hasten  them  to  their  proper  climate  again. 

"Round  about  the  black  tower  there  were,  me- 
thought,  many  thousands  of  huge  misshapen  ugly 
monsters  ;  these  had  great  nets,  which  they  were 
perpetually  plying  and  casting  towards  the  crooked 
paths,  and  tlJey  would  now  and  then  catch  up  those 
that  were  nearest  to  them;  these  they  took  up 
straight,    and    whirled    over    the    walls    into    the 


NO.   524.  SPECTATOR.  279 

flaming  tower,  and  they  were  no  more  seen  nor 
heard  of. 

"  They  would  sometimes  cast  their  nets  towards 
the  right  paths  to  catcli  tlie  stragglers,  whose  eyes, 
tor  want  of  frequent  drinking  at  the  brook  that  ran 
by  them,  grew  dim,  whereby  they  lost  their  way ; 
these  would  sometimes  very  narrowly  miss  being 
catched  away,  but  I  could  not  hear  whether  any  of 
these  had  ever  been  so  unfortunate,  that  luid  been 
before  very  hearty  in  the  straight  paths. 

"  I  considered  all  these  strange  sights  with  great 
attention,  till  at  last  I  was  interrupted  by  a  cluster 
of  the  ti'avellers  in  the  crooked  paths,  who  came  up 
to  me,  bid  me  go  along  with  them,  and  presently 
fell  to  singing  and  dancing ;  they  took  me  by  the 
hand,  and  so  carried  me  away  along  with  them. 
After  I  had  followed  them  a  considerable  while,  I 
perceived  I  had  lost  the  black  tower  of  light,  at 
which  I  greatly  wondered ;  but  as  I  looked  and 
gazed  round  about  me  and  saw  nothing,  I  began  to 
fancy  my  first  vision  had  been  but  a  dream,  and 
there  was  no  such  thing  in  reality  ;  but  then  I  con- 
sidered that  if  I  could  fancy  to  see  what  was  not,  I 
might  as  well  have  an  illusion  wrought  on  me  at  pre- 
sent, and  not  see  what  was  really  before  me.  I  was 
very  much  confirmed  in  this  thought,  by  the  effect 
I  then  just  observed  the  water  of  Worldly  Wisdom 
had  upon  me  ;  for  as  I  had  drank  a  little  of  it  again, 
I  felt  a  very  sensible  effect  in  my  head ;  methought 
it  distracted  and  disordered  all  there  ;  this  made  me 
stop  of  a  sudden,  suspecting  some  charm  or  enchant- 
ment. As  I  was  casting  about  within  myself  what 
I  should  do,  and  whom  to  apply  to  in  this  case,  I 
spied  at  some  distance  off  me  a  man  beckoning,  and 
making  signs  to  me  to  come  over  to  him.  I  cried 
to  him,  I  did  not  know  the  way.     He  then  called  to 


280 


SPECTATOR.  NO.   524. 


me  audibly,  to  step  at  least  out  of  the  path  I  was 
in;  for  if  I  stayed  there  any  longer  I  was  in  danger 
to  be  catched  in  a  great  net  that  was  just  hanging 
over  me,  and  ready  to  cateh  me  up  ;  that  he  won- 
dered I  was  so  blind,  or  so  distracted,  as  not  to  see 
so  imminent  and  visible  a  danger  ;  assuring  me,  that 
as  soon  as  I  was  out  of  that  way,  he  would  come  to 
me  to  lead  rae  into  a  more  secure  path.  This  I  did, 
and  he  brought  me  his  palm  full  of  the  water  of 
Heavenly  Wisdom,  whicii  was  of  very  great  use  to 
me,  for  my  eyes  were  straight  cleare^d,  and  I  saw 
the  great  black  tower  just  before  me;  but  the  great 
net  which  I  spied  so  near  me  cast  me  in  such  a 
terror,  that  I  ran  back  as  far  as  I  could  in  one  breath, 
without  looking  behind  me.  Then  my  benefactor 
thus  bes[)oke  me ;  "  You  have  made  the  wonder- 
fulest  escape  in  the  world ;  the  water  you  used  to 
drink  is  of  a  bewitching  nature,  you  would  else  have 
been  mightily  shocked  at  the  deformities  and  mean- 
ness of  the  place  ;  for  beside  the  set  of  blind  fools  in 
whose  company  you  was,  you  may  now  observe 
many  others  who  are  only  bewitched  after  another 
no  less  dangerous  manner.  Look  a  little  that  way, 
there  goes  a  crowd  of  passengers  ;  they  have  indeed 
so  good  a  head  as  not  to  suffer  themselves  to  be 
blinded  by  this  bewitching  water;  the  black  tower 
is  not  vanished  out  of  their  sight,  they  see  it  when- 
ever they  look  up  to  it;  but  see  how  they  go  side- 
ways, and  with  their  eyes  downwards,  as  if  they 
were  mad.  that  they  may  thus  rush  into  the  net, 
without  being  beforehand  troubled  at  the  thought 
of  so  miserable  a  destruction.  Their  wills  are  so 
perverse,  and  their  heart>  so  fond  of  the  pleasures 
of  the  place,  that  rather  than  foiego  them  they  will 
run  all  hazards,  and  venture  upon  all  the  miseries 
and  woes  l)efore  them. 


NO.    524.  SPECTATOR.  281 

"  See  there  that  other  company ;  though  they 
should  drink  none  of  the  bewitching  water,  yet  they 
take  a  course  bewitching  and  deluding.  See  how 
they  choose  the  crookedest  paths,  whereby  they 
have  often  the  black  tower  behind  them,  and  some- 
times see  the  radiant  column  sideways,  which  gives 
them  some  weak  glimpse  of  it !  These  fools  content 
themselves  with  that,  not  knowing  whether  any 
other  have  any  more  of  its  influence  and  light  than 
themselves ;  this  road  is  called  that  of  Superstition 
or  Human  Invention ;  they  grossly  overlook  that 
which  the  rules  and  laws  of  the  place  prescribe  to 
them,  and  contrive  some  other  scheme,  and  set  off 
directions  and  prescriptions  for  themselves,  which 
they  hope  will  serve  their  turn."  He  showed  me 
many  other  kind  of  fools,  which  put  me  quite  out  of 
humour  with  the  place.  At  last,  he  carried  me  to 
the  right  paths,  where  I  found  true  and  solid  plea- 
sure, which  entertained  me  all  the  way,  till  we  came 
in  closer  sight  of  the  pillar,  where  the  satisfaction 
increased  to  that  measure  that  my  faculties  were 
not  able  to  contain  it ;  in  the  straining  of  them  I  was 
violently  waked,  not  a  little  grieved  at  the  vanishing 
of  so  pleasing  a  dream." 
"  Glasgow,  September  29." 


282  SPECTATOR.  NO.    525. 


No.  525.     SATURDAY,  NOVEMBER  1,  1712. 


'O  6"  «'f  Td  aCxppov  in'  uperiji  t"  uyuv  epuc, 

Zr/hjTdg  av&punolcicv.  EURIP. 

That  love  alone  whicb  virtue's  laws  control 
Deserves  reception  in  the  human  soul. 

It  is  my  custom  to  take  frequent  opportunities  of 
inquirinj^  from  time  to  time  what  success  my  specu- 
lations meet  with  in  the  town.  I  am  glad  to  find, 
in  particular,  that  my  discourses  on  marriage  have 
been  well  received.  A  friend  of  mine  gives  me  to 
understand,  from  Doctor's  Commons,  that  more  li- 
censes have  been  taken  out  there  of  late  than  usual. 
I  am  likewise  informed  of  several  pretty  fellows, 
who  have  resolved  to  commence  heads  of  families 
by  the  first  favourable  opportunity.  One  of  them 
writes  me  word  that  he  is  ready  to  enter  into  the 
bonds  of  matrimony,  provided  I  will  give  it  him 
under  my  hand,  as  1  now  do,  that  a  man  may  show 
his  face  in  good  company  after  he  is  married,  and 
that  he  need  not  be  ashamed  to  treat  a  woman 
with  kindness  who  puts  herself  into  his  power  for 
life. 

I  have  other  letters  on  this  subject,  which  say 
that  I  am  attempting  to  make  a  revolution  in  the 
world  of  gallantry,  and  that  the  consequence  of  it 
will  be  that  a  great  deal  of  the  sprightliest  wit  and 
satire  of  the  last  age  will  be  lost  ;  that  a  bashful 
fellow,  upon  changing  his  condition,  will  be  no  longer 
puzzled  how  to  stand  the  raillery  of  his  facetious 


NO.    525.  SPECTATOR.  283 

companions ;  that  he  need  not  own  he  married  only 
to  plunder  an  heiress  of  her  fortune,  nor  pretend 
that  he  uses  her  ill,  to  avoid  the  ridiculous  name  of 
a  fond  husband. 

Indeed,  if  I  may  speak  my  opinion  of  great  part 
of  the  writings  which  once  prevailed  among  us  un- 
der the  notion  of  humour,  they  are  such  as  would 
tempt  one  to  think  there  had  been  an  association 
among  the  wits  of  those  times  to  rally  legitimacy  out 
of  our  island.  A  state  of  wedlock  was  the  common 
mark  of  all  the  adventui-ers  in  farce  or  comedy,  as 
well  as  the  essayers  in  lampoon  and  satire,  to  shoot 
at ;  and  nothing  was  a  more  standing  jest,  in  all 
clubs  of  fashionable  mirth  and  gay  conversation.  It 
was  determined  among  those  airy  critics,  that  the 
appellation  of  a  sober  man  should  signify  a  spiritless 
fellow.  And  I  am  apt  to  think  it  was  about  the  same 
time  that  good-nature,  a  word  so  peculiarly  elegant 
in  our  language,  that  some  have  affirmed  it  cannot 
well  be  expressed  in  any  other,  came  first  to  be 
rendered  suspicious,  and  in  danger  of  being  trans- 
ferred from  its  original  sense  to  so  distant  an  idea 
as  that  of  folly. 

I  must  confess  it  has  been  my  ambition,  in  the 
course  of  my  writings,  to  restore,  as  well  as  I  was 
able,  the  proper  ideas  of  things.  And  as  I  have 
attempted  this  already  on  the  subject  of  marriage  in 
several  papers,  I  shall  here  add  some  further  obsei'- 
vations  which  occur  to  me  on  the  same  head. 

Nothing  seems  to  be  thought,  by  our  fine  gentle- 
men, so  indispensable  an  ornament  in  fashionable 
life,  as  love.  "  A  knight  errant,"  says  Don  Quixote, 
•'  without  a  mistress,  is  Hke  a  tree  without  leaves  ;  " 
and  a  man  of  mode  among  us  who  has  not  some  fair 
one  to  sigh  for,  might  as  well  pretend  to  appear 
dressed  without  his   periwig.     We   have  lovers  in 


284  SPECTATOR.  NO.  62S. 

prose  innumerable.  All  our  pretenders  to  rhyme 
are  professed  inamoratos  ;  and  there  is  scarce  a  poet, 
good  or  bad.  to  be  heard  of,  who  has  not  some  real 
or  supposed  Saceharissa  to  im])rove  his  vein. 

If  love  be  any  refinement,  conjugal  love  must  be 
certainly  so  in  a  much  higher  degree.  There  is  no 
comparison  between  the  frivolous  affectation  of  at- 
tracting the  eyes  of  women  with  whom  yoii  are  only 
captivated  by  way  of  amusement,  and  of  whom 
perhaps  you  know  nothing  more  than  their  features, 
and  a  regular  and  uniform  endeavour  to  make  your- 
self valuable,  both  as  a  friend  and  lover,  to  one 
whom  you  have  chosen  to  be  the  companion  of  your 
life.  The  first  is  the  sj)ringof  a  thousand  fopperies, 
silly  artifices,  falseiioods,  and  i)erhaps  barbarities ; 
or  at  best  rises  no  higher  than  to  a  kind  of  dancing- 
school  breeding,  to  give  the  i)erson  a  more  sparkling 
air.  The  latter  is  the  parent  of  substantial  virtues 
and  agreeable  qualities,  and  cultivates  the  mind 
while  it  improves  the  behaviour.  The  passion  of 
love  to  a  mistress,  even  where  it  is  most  sincere, 
resembles  too  much  the  flame  of  a  fever ;  that  to  a 
wife  is  like  the  vital  heat. 

I  have  often  thought,  if  the  letters  written  by 
men  of  good-nature  to  their  wives  were  to  be  com- 
pared with  those  written  by  men  of  gallantry  to 
their  mistresses,  the  former,  notwithstanding  any  in- 
equality of  style,  would  appear  to  have  the  advan- 
tage. Friendship,  tenderness,  and  constancy,  dressed 
in  a  simplicity  of  expression,  recommend  themselves 
by  a  more  native  elegance,  than  passionate  raptures, 
extravagant  encomiums,  and  slavish  adoration.  If 
we  were  admitted  to  search  the  cabinet  of  the  beau- 
tiful Narcissa.  among  heaps  of  epistles  from  several 
admirers,  which  are  there  preserved  with  equal 
care,  how  few  should  we  find  but  would  make  any 


NO.    525.  SPECTATOR.  285 

one  sick  in  the  reading,  except  her  who  is  flattered 
by  them  ?  But  in  how  diflferent  a  style  must  the 
wise  BenevoUis,  who  converses  with  that  good  sense 
and  good-humour  among  all  his  friends,  write  to  a 
wife  who  is  the  worthy  object  of  his  utmost  affec- 
tion ?  Benevolus,  both  in  public  and  private,  on  all 
occasions  of  life,  appears  to  have  every  good  quality 
and  desirable  ornament.  Abroad,  he  is  reverenced 
and  esteemed ;  at  home,  beloved  and  happy.  The 
satisfaction  he  enjoys  there  settles  into  an  habitual 
complacency,  which  shines  in  his  countenance,  en- 
livens his  wit,  and  seasons  his  conversation.  Even 
those  of  his  acquaintance,  who  have  never  seen  him 
in  his  retirement,  are  sharers  in  the  happiness  of 
it ;  and  it  is  very  much  owing  to  his  being  the  best 
and  best  beloved  of  husbands,  that  he  is  the  most 
steadfast  of  friends,  and  the  most  agreeable  of  com- 
panions. 

There  is  a  sensible  pleasure  in  contemplating 
such  beautiful  instances  of  domestic  life.  The 
happiness  of  the  conjugal  state  appears  heightened 
to  the  highest  degree  it  is  capable  of  when  we  see 
two  persons  of  accomplished  minds  not  only  united 
in  the  same  interests  and  affections,  but  in  their  taste 
of  the  same  improvements,  pleasures,  and  diver- 
sions. Pliny,  one  of  the  finest  gentlemen  and  po- 
litest writers  of  the  age  in  which  he  lived,  has  left 
us,  in  his  letter  to  Hispulla,  his  wife's  aunt,  one 
of  the  most  agreeable  family  pieces  of  this  kind  I 
have  ever  met  with.  I  shall  end  this  discourse 
with  a  translation  of  it ;  and  I  believe  the  reader 
will  be  of  my  opinion,  that  conjugal  love  is  drawn 
in  it  with  a  delicacy  which  makes  it  appear  to  be, 
as  I  have  represented  it,  an  ornament  as  well  as  a 
virtue. 


286  SPECTATOR.  NO.    626. 

"  PLINY    TO    HISPULLA. 

"  As  I  remember  thai  great  afFection  which  was 
between  you  and  your  excellent  brother,  and  know 
you  love  his  daughter  as  your  own,  so  as  not  only 
to  express  the  tenderness  of  the  best  of  aunts,  but 
even  to  supply  that  of  the  best  of  fathers  ;  I  am 
sure  it  will  be  a  pleasure  to  you  to  hear  that  she 
pi'oves  worthy  of  her  father,  worthy  of  you,  and  of 
your  and  her  ancestors.  Her  ingenuity  is  admir- 
able ;  her  frugality  extraordinary.  She  loves  me, 
the  surest  pledge  of  her  virtue  ;  and  adds  to  this  a 
wonderful  disposition  to  learning,  which  she  has 
acquired  from  her  afFection  to  me.  She  reads  my 
writings,  studies  them,  and  even  gets  them  by  heart. 
You  would  smile  to  see  the  concern  she  is  in  when 
I  have  a  cause  to  plead,  and  the  joy  she  shows 
when  it  is  over.  She  finds  means  to  have  the  first 
news  brought  her  of  the  success  I  meet  with  in 
court,  how  I  am  heard,  and  what  decree  is  made. 
If  I  recite  any  thing  in  public,  she  cannot  refrain 
from  placing  herself  privately  in  some  corner  to 
hear,  where,  with  the  utmost  delight,  she  feasts  on 
my  applauses.  Sometimes  she  sings  ray  verses, 
and  accompanies  them  with  the  lute,  without  any 
master  except  love,  the  best  of  instructors.  From 
these  instances,  I  take  the  most  certain  omens  of 
our  perpetual  and  increasing  happiness  ;  since  her 
affection  is  not  founded  on  my  youth  and  person, 
which  must  gradually  decay,  but  she  is  in  love  with 
tlie  immortal  part  of  me,  my  glory  and  reputation. 
Nor,  indeed,  could  less  be  expected  from  one  who 
had  the  happiness  to  receive  her  education  from 
you,  who  in  your  house  was  accustomed  to  every 
thing  that  was  virtuous  and  decent,  and  even  began 
to  love  me  by  your  recommendation.     For,  as  you 


NO.   526.  SPECTATOR.  287 

had  always  the  greatest  respect  for  my  mother,  you 
were  pleased  from  my  infancy  to  form  me,  to  com- 
mend me,  and  kindly  to  presage  I  should  be  one 
day  what  my  wife  fancies  I  am.  Accept  therefore 
our  united  thanks ;  mine,  that  you  have  bestowed 
her  on  me ;  and  hers,  that  you  have  given  me  to 
her,  as  a  mutual  grant  of  joy  and  felicity," 


No.  526.    MONDAY,  NOVEMBER  3,  1712. 


— Fortius  utere  hris.  ovro.  met.  ii.  127. 

Keep  a  stiflf  rein.  addison. 

I  AM  very  loth  to  come  to  extremities  with  the 
young  gentlemen  mentioned  in  the  following  letter, 
and  do  not  care  to  chastise  them  with  my  own  hand, 
till  I  am  forced  by  provocations  too  great  to  be  suf- 
fered without  the  absolute  destruction  of  my  Spec- 
tatorial  dignity.  The  crimes  of  these  offenders  are 
placed  under  the  observation  of  one  of  my  chief 
officers,  who  is  posted  just  at  the  entrance  of  the 
pass  between  London  and  Westminster.  As  I  have 
great  confidence  in  the  capacity,  resolution,  and  in- 
tegrity, of  the  person  deputed  by  me  to  give  an  ac- 
count of  enormities,  I  doubt  not  but  I  shall  soon 
have  before  me  all  proper  notices  which  are  requi- 
site for  the  amendment  of  manners  in  public,  and 
the  mstruction  of  each  individual  of  the  human 
species  in  what  is  due  from  him  in  respect  to  the 


2h8  spkctatok.  no.  528. 

whole  body  of  maiikiiul.  Tlie  present  paper  shall 
Cv)n,si.st  only  of  the  above-ineiitioneil  letter,  and  the 
copy  of  a  deputation  wliich  I  have  given  to  my 
trusty  friend  ^Ir.  John  Sly  ;  wherein  he  is  charged 
to  notify  to  me  all  tliat  is  necessary  for  my  animad- 
version upon  the  delinquents  mentioned  by  ray  cor- 
respondent, as  well  as  all  others  described  in  the 
said  deputation. 

"  TO    THE    SPHCTATOR-GENERAL    OF    GREAT    BRITAIN. 

"I  grant  it  does  look  a  little  familiar,  but  I  must 
call  you 

"dear  dumb, 

"  Being  got  again  to  the  further  end  of  the  Wi- 
dow's coffee-house,  I  shall  from  hence  give  you 
some  account  of  the  behaviour  of  our  hackney- 
coachmen  since  my  last.  These  indefatigable 
gentlemen,  without  the  least  design,  I  dare  say,  of 
self-interest  or  advantage  to  tliemselves,  do  still  ply 
as  volunteers  day  and  night  for  the  good  of  their 
country.  I  will  not  trouble  you  with  enumerating 
many  particulars,  but  I  must  by  no  means  omit  to 
inform  you  of  an  infant  about  six  foot*  high,  and 
between  twenty  and  thirty  years  of  age,  who  was 
seen  in  the  arms  of  a  hackney-coachman,  driving 
by  Will's  coffee-house  in  Covent-garden,  between 
the  hours  of  four  and  five  in  the  afternoon  of  that 
very  day  wherein  you  published  a  memorial  against 
them.  This  impudent  young  cur,  though  he  could 
not  sit  inf  a  coach-box  without  holding,  yet  would 
he  venture  his  neck  to  bid  defiance  to  your  Specta- 
torial  authority,  or  to  any  thing  tiiat  you  counte- 
nanced.    Who  he  was  I  know  not,  but  I  heard  this 

*  Feet.  t  Intended  it  seems  for  on. 


NO.    526.  SPECTATOR.  289 

relation  this  morning  from  a  gentleman  who  was 
an  eye-witness  of  this  his  impudence  ;  and  I  was 
willing  to  take  the  first  opportunity  to  inform  you 
of  him,  as  holding  it  extremely  requisite  that  you 
should  nip  him  in  the  bud.  But  I  am  myself  most 
concerned  for  my  fellow-templars,  fellow-students, 
and  fellow-labourers  in  the  law,  I  mean  such  of  them 
as  are  dignified  and  distinguished  under  the  de- 
nomination of  hackney-coachmen.  Such  aspiring 
minds  have  these  ambitious  young  men,  that  they 
cannot  enjoy  themselves  out  *  of  a  coach-box.  It 
is,  however,  an  unspeakable  comfort  to  me  that  I 
can  now  tell  you  that  some  of  them  are  grown  so 
bashful  as  to  study  only  in  the  night-time  or  in  the 
country.  The  other  night,  I  spied  one  of  our  young 
gentlemen  very  diligent  at  his  lucubrations  in  Fleet- 
Street  ;  and  by  the  way,  I  should  be  under  some 
concern  lest  this  hard  student  should  one  time  or 
other  crack  his  brain  with  studying,  but  that  I  am 
in  hopes  nature  has  taken  care  to  fortify  him  in  pro- 
portion to  the  great  undertakings  he  was  designed 
for.  Another  of  my  fellow-templars  on  Thursday 
last  was  getting  up  into  his  study  at  the  bottom  of 
Gray's  inn-lane,  in  order,  I  suppose,  to  contemplate 
in  the  fresh  air.  Now,  Sir,  my  request  is,  that  the 
great  modesty  of  these  two  gentlemen  may  be  re- 
corded as  a  pattern  to -the  rest,  and  if  you  would  but 
give  them  two  or  three  touches  with  your  own  pen, 
though  you  might  not  perhaps  prevail  with  them  to 
desist  entirely  from  their  meditations,  yet  I  doubt 
not  but  you  would  at  least  preserve  them  from  be- 
ing public  spectacles  of  folly  in  our  streets.  I  say, 
two  or  three  touches  Avith  your  own  pen  ;  for  I  have 
really  observed,   Mr.    Spec,   that  those   Spectators 


*  See  the  preceding  note. 
VOL.    XI.  19 


290  SPECTATOR.  NO.   526. 

which  are  so  prettily  hxced  down  the  sides  with  little 
cs,  how  instructive  soever  they  may  be,  do  not  carry 
with  them  that  authority  as  the  others.  I  do  a^^ain 
therefore  desin.-,  that  tor  the  sake  of  their  dear 
necks,  you  would  bestow  one  penful  of  your  own 
ink  upon  them.  I  know  you  are  loth  to  expose 
them  ;  and  it  is,  I  must  confess,  a  thousand  pities 
that  any  young  gentleman,  who  is  come  of  iionest 
parents,  should  l)e  brought  to  public  shame.  And, 
indeed,  I  should  be  glad  to  have  them  handled  a 
little  tenderly  at  the  first ;  but  if  fair  means  will  not 
prevail,  there  is  then  no  other  way  to  reclaim  them 
but  by  making  use  of  some  wholesome  severities ; 
and  I  think  it  is  better  that  a  dozen  or  two  of  such 
good-for-nothing  fellows  should  be  made  examples 
of,  than  that  the  reputation  of  some  hundreds  of  as 
hopeful  young  gentlemen  as  myself  should  suffer 
through  their  folly.  It  is  not,  however,  for  me  to 
direct  you  what  to  do ;  but,  in  short,  if  our  coach- 
men will  drive  on  this  trade,  the  very  first  of  them 
that  I  do  find  meditating  in  the  street,  I  shall  make 
bold  to  '  take  the  number  of  his  chambers,'  *  toge- 
ther with  a  note  of  his  name,  and  despatch  them  to 
you,  that  you  may  chastise  him  at  your  own  dis- 
cretion. 

"  I  am.  Dear  Spec, 
"  Foi'ever  yours, 

"  Moses  Greenbag, 

"  Esq.  if  you  please. 

"  P.  S.  Tom  Hammercloth,  one  of  our  coachmen, 
is  now  pleading  at  the  bar  at  the  other  end  of  the 
room,  but  has  a  little   too  much  vehemence,  and 


*  An  allusion  to  the  usual  and  prudent  precaution  of  taking 
the  number  of  a  hackney-coach  before  entrance. 


NO.    526.  SPECTATOR.  291 

throws  out  his  arms  too  much  to  take  his  audience 
with  a  good  grace." 

TO  MY  LOVING  AND  AVELL-BELOVED  JOHN  SLY^ 
HABERDASHER  OP  HATS,  AND  TOBACCONIST,  BE- 
TWEEN THE  CITIES  OP  LONDON  AND  WESTMIN- 
STER. 

Whereas  frequent  disorders,  affronts,  indignities, 
omissions,  and  trespasses,  for  which  there  are  no 
remedies  by  any  form  of  law,  but  which  apparently 
disturb  and  disquiet  the  minds  of  men,  happen  near 
the  place  of  your  residence ;  and  that  you  are,  as 
well  by  your  commodious  situation,  as  the  good 
parts  with  which  you  are  endowed,  properly  quali- 
fied for  the  observation  of  the  said  offences  ;  I  do 
hereby  authorize  and  depute  you,  from  the  hours  of 
nine  in  the  morning  till  four  in  the  afternoon,  to 
keep  a  strict  eye  upon  all  persons  and  things  that 
are  conveyed  in  coaches,  carried  in  carts,  or  walk 
on  foot,  from  the  city  of  London  to  the  city  of  West- 
minster, or  from  the  city  of  Westminster  to  the  city 
of  London,  within  the  said  hours.  You  are  there- 
fore not  to  depart  from  your  observatory  at  the  end 
of  Devereux-court  during  the  said  space  of  each 
day,  but  to  observe  the  behaviour  of  all  persons 
who  are  suddenly  transported  from  stamping  on 
pebbles  to  sit  at  ease  in  chariots,  what  notice  they 
take  of  their  foot  acquaintance,  and  send  me  the 
speediest  advice,  when  they  are  guilty  of  overlook- 
ing, turning  from,  or  appearing  grave  and  distant  to, 
their  old  friends.  When  man  and  wife  are  in  the 
same  coach,  you  are  to  see  whether  they  appear 
pleased  or  tired  with  each  other,  and  whether  they 
carry  the  due  mean  in  the  eyeof  the  world,  between 
fondness  and  coldness.  You  are  carefully  to  be- 
hold all  such  as  shall  have  addition  of  honour  or 


292  SPECTATOn.  no.    526. 

riches,  and  report  whether  they  preserve  the  coun- 
tenance tliey  had  before  such  addition.  As  to  per- 
sons on  foot,  you  are  to  be  attentive  whether  they 
are  pleased  with  their  condition,  and  are  dressed 
suitable  to  it;  but  especially  to  distinguish  such  as 
appear  discreet,  by  a  low  heel  shoe,  with  the  decent 
ornament  of  a  leather  garter  ;  *  to  write  down  the 
names  of  such  country  gentlemen  as,  upon  the  ap- 
proach of  peace,  have  left  the  hunting  for  the  mili- 
tary cock  of  the  hat ;  of  all  who  strut,  make  a  noise, 
and  swear  at  the  drivers  of  coaches  to  make  haste, 
when  they  see  it  is  impossible  they  should  pass;  of 
all  young  gentlemen  in  coach-boxes,  who  labour  at 
a  perfection  in  what  they  are  sure  to  be  excelled  by 
the  meanest  of  the  people.  You  are  to  do  all  that  in 
you  lies  that  coaches  and  passengers  give  way  ac- 
cording to  the  course  of  business,  all  the  morning  in 
term  time  towards  Westminster,  the  rest  of  the  year 
towards  the  Exchange.  Upon  these  directions,  to- 
gether with  other  secret  articles  herein  inclosed, 
you  are  to  govern  yourself,  and  give  advertisement 
thereof  to  me,  at  all  convenient  and  Spectatorial 
hours,  when  men  of  business  are  to  be  seen.  Hereof 
you  are  not  to  fail.  Given  untler  my  seal  of  office. 
T  The  Spectator. 

*  It  has  been  said  that  there  is  an  allusion  here  to  a  very 
worthy  gentleman  of  fortune,  bred  to  the  law,  who  hud  cham- 
bers in  Lincolu's-iun.  His  name  was  Richard  Warner,  the 
younger  son  of  a  banker,  who,  thoudi  he  always  wore  leather 
"garters,  in  no  other  instance  aflrected  singularity.  For  a  more 
particular  account  of  him,  see  Anecdotes  of  \V.  Bowyer,  4to. 
p.  409. 


\0.  52".  SPECTATOR.  293 


No.  527.     TUESDAY,  NOVEMBER  4,  1712. 


Facile  invenies  et  pejorem,  et  pejus  moratam  ; 
Meliorem  neque  tu  I'eperies,  neque  sul  videt. 

PLAUTDS   IN   STICHOR. 

You  will  easily  find  a  worse  woman ;  a  better  the  suu  nevef 
shone  upon. 

I  AM  SO  tender  of  my  women-readers,  that  I  can- 
not defer  the  publication  of  any  thing  which  con- 
cerns their  happiness  or  quiet.  The  repose  of  a 
married  woman  is  consuUed  in  the  first  of  the  fol- 
lowing letters,  and  the  felicity  of  a  maiden  lady  in 
the  second.  I  call  it  a  felicity  to  have  the  addresses 
of  an  agreeable  man ;  and  I  think  I  have  not  any- 
where seen  a  prettier  application  of  a  poetical  story 
than  that  of  his,  in  making  the  tale  of  Cephalus  and 
Procris  the  history  picture  of  a  fan  in  so  gallant  a 
manner  as  he  addresses  it.     But  see  the  letters. 

"  MR.   SPECTATOR, 

'•  It  is  now  almost  three  months  since  I  was  in 
town  about  some  business ;  and  the  hurry  of  it 
being  over,  took  coach  one  afternoon,  and  drove 
to  see  a  relation,  who  married  about  six  years  ago 
a  wealthy  citizen.  I  found  her  at  home,  but  her 
husband  gone  to  the  Exchange,  and  expected  back 
within  an  hour  at  the  furthest.  After  the  usual  sa- 
lutations of  kindness,  and  a  hundred  questions  about 
friends  in  the  country,  we  sat  down  to  piquet,  played 
two  or  three  games,  and  drank  tea.     I  should  have 


-^ I  SPECTATOR. 


NO.    527. 


told  you  that  this  was  my  second  time  of  seeing  her 
since  marriage;  but  before,  she  lived  at  the  same 
town  where  I  went  to  school ;  so  that  the  plea  of  a 
i-elation,  added  to  the  innocence  of  my  youth,  pre- 
vailed upon  her  good-humour  to  indulge  me  in  a 
freedom  of  conversation,  as  often,  and  oftener,  than 
the  strict  discipline  of  the  school  would  allow  of. 
You  may  easily  imagine,  after  such  an  acquaintance 
we  might  be  exceeding  merry  without  any  offence ; 
as  in  calling  to  mind  how  many  inventions  I  have 
been  put  to  in  deluding  the  master,  how  many  hands 
forged  for  excuses,  how  many  times  been  sick  in 
perfect  health  ;  for  I  was  then  never  sick  but  at 
school,  and  only  then  because  out  of  her  company. 
We  had  whiled  away  three  hours  after  this  manner, 
when  I  found  it  past  five;  and,  not  expecting  her 
husband  would  return  till  late,  rose  up,  and  told  her 
I  should  go  early  next  morning  for  the  country. 
She  kindly  answered  she  was  afraid  it  would  be  long 
before  she  saw  me  again  ;  so,  I  took  my  leave,  and 
parted.  Now,  Sir,  I  had  not  been  got  home  a  fort- 
night, when  I  received  a  letter  from  a  neighbour  of 
theirs,  that,  ever  since  that  fatal  afternoon,  the  lady 
had  been  most  inhumanly  treated,  and  the  husband 
publicly  stormed  that  he  was  made  a  member  of  too 
numerous  a  society.  He  had,  it  seems  listened  most 
of  the  time  my  cousin  and  I  were  together.  As 
jealous  ears  always  hear  double,  so  he  heard  enough 
to  make  him  mad  ;  and  as  jealous  eyes  always  see 
through  magnifying  glasses,  so  he  was  certain  it 
could  not  be  I  whom  he  had  seen,  a  beardless  strip- 
ling, but  fancied  he  saw  a  gay  gentleman  of  the 
Temple,  ten  years  older  than  myself;  and  for  that 
reason,  I  presume,  durst  not  come  in,  nor  take  any 
notice  when  I  went  out.  He  is  perpetually  asking 
his  wife  if  she  does  not  think  the  time  long,  as  she 


NO.    527.  SPECTATOR.  295 

said  she  should,  till  she  see  her  cousin  again.  Pray, 
Sir,  what  can  be  done  in  this  case  ?  I  have  writ  to 
him,  to  assure  him  I  was  at  his  house  all  that  aftex'- 
noon  expecting  to  see  him.  His  answer  is,  it  is  only 
a  trick  of  hers,  and  that  he  neither  can  nor  will  be- 
lieve me.  The  parting  kiss  I  find  mightily  nettles 
him,  and  confirms  him  in  all  his  errors.  Ben  Jonson, 
as  I  remember,  makes  a  foreigner,  in  one  of  his  co- 
medies, '  admire  the  desperate  valour  of  the  bold 
English,  who  let  out  their  wives  to  all  encounters.' 
The  general  custom  of  salutation  should  excuse  the 
favour  done  me,  or  you  should  lay  down  rules  when 
such  distinctions  are  to  be  given  or  omitted.  You 
cannot  imagine.  Sir,  how  troubled  I  am  for  this  un- 
happy lady's  misfortune,  and  beg  you  would  insert 
this  letter,  that  the  husband  may  reflect  upon  this 
accident  coolly.  It  is  no  small  matter,  the  ease  of 
a  virtuous  woman  for  her  whole  life.  I  know  she 
will  conform  to  any  regularities,  though  more  strict 
than  the  common  rules  of  our  country  require,  to 
which  his  particular  temper  shall  incline  him  to 
oblige  her.  This  accident  puts  me  in  mind  how 
generously  Pisistratus,  the  Athenian  tyrant,  behaved 
himself  on  a  like  occasion,  when  he  was  instigated 
by  his  wife  to  put  to  death  a  young  gentleman,  be- 
cause, being  passionately  fond  of  his  daughter,  he 
had  kissed  her  in  public,  as  he  met  her  in  the  street, 
'  What,'  said  he,  '  shall  we  do  to  those  who  are  our 
enemies,  if  we  do  thus  to  those  who  are  our  friends  ? ' 
I  will  not  trouble  you  much  longer,  but  am  exceed- 
ingly concerned  lest  this  accident  may  cause  a  vir- 
tuous lady  to  lead  a  miserable  life  with  a  husband 
who  has  no  grounds  for  his  jealousy  but  what  I 
have  faithfully  related,  and  ought  to  be  reckoned 
none.  It  is  to  be  feared,  too,  if  at  last  he  sees  his 
mistake,  yet  people  will  be  as  slow  and  unwilUng 


296  SPECTATOR.  NO.  527. 

in  disbelieving  scandal  a.s  they  are  quick  and  for- 
ward in  believing  it.  I  shall  endeavour  to  enliven 
this  plain  honest  letter  with  Ovid's  relation  about 
Cybele's  image.  The  ship  wherein  it  was  aboard 
was  stranded  at  the  mouth  of"  the  Tilter,  and  the  men 
were  unable  to  move  it,  till  Claudia,  a  virgin,  but 
suspected  of  unchastity,  by  a  slight  pull  hauled 
it  in.  The  story  is  told  in  the  fourth  book  of  the 
Fasti. 

'  Parent  of  gods,'  began  the  weeping  fair, 
'  Reward  or  punish,  but  oh!  hear  my  prayer: 
If  lewdness  e'er  defii'd  my  virgin  bloom. 
From  heaven  with  justice  I  receive  my  doom: 
But  if  my  honour  yet  has  known  no  stain. 
Thou,  goddess,  thou  my  innocence  maintain: 
Thou,  whom  the  nicest  rules  of  goodness  sway'd, 
Vouchsafe  to  follow  an  unblemish'd  maid.' 
She  spoke,  and  touch'd  the  cord:  with  glad  surprise, 
The  truth  was  witness'd  by  ten  thousand  eyes, 
The  pitying  goddess  easily  complied. 
Followed  in  trium])h,  and  adorned  her  guide; 
While  Claudia,  blushing  still  for  past  disgrace, 
March'd  silent  on,  with  a  slow,  solemn  pace; 
Nor  yet  from  some  was  all  distrust  removed. 
Though  heaven  such  virtue  by  such  wonders  proved. 

"  I  am,  Sir, 
"  Your  very  humble  servant, 

"  Philagnotes." 

"  mb.  spectator, 

"  You  will  oblige  a  languishing  lover  if  you  will 
please  to  print  the  inclosed  verses  in  your  next 
paper.  If  you  remember  the  Metamorphoses,  you 
know  Procris,  the  fond  wife  of  Cephalus,  is  said  to 
have  made  her  husband,  who  delighted  in  the  sports 
of  the  wood,  a  present  of  an  unerring  javelin.  In 
process  of  time  he  was  so  much  in  the  forest,  that 
his  lady  suspected  he  was  pursuing  some  nymph, 
under  the  pretence  of  following  a  chase  more  inno- 


NO.    527.  SPECTATOR.  297 

cent.  Under  this  suspicion  she  hid  herself  among 
the  trees,  to  observe  his  motions.  While  she  lay 
concealed,  her  husband,  tired  with  the  labour  of 
hunting,  came  within  her  hearing.  As  he  was  faint- 
ing with  heat  he  cried  out,  'Aura  veni! '  'Oh, 
charming  air,  approach ! ' 

"  The  unfortunate  wife,  taking  the  word  air  to  be 
the  name  of  a  woman,  began  to  move  among  the 
bushes ;  and  the  husband,  believing  it  a  deer,  threw 
his  javelin,  and  killed  her.  This  history,  painted 
on  a  fan,  which  I  presented  to  a  lady,  gave  occasion 
to  my  growing  poetical. 

'  Come,  gentle  air! '  th'  iEolian  shepherd  said, 
While  Procris  panted  in  the  secret  shade; 

'  Come,  gentle  air,'  the  fairer  Delia  cries, 
While  at  her  feet  the  swain  expiring  lies. 
Lo!  the  glad  gales  o'er  all  her  beauties  stray, 
Breathe  on  her  hps,  and  in  her  bosom  play. 
In  Delia's  hand  this  toy  is  fatal  found, 
Nor  did  that  fabled  dart  more  surely  wound. 
Both  gifts  destructive  to  the  givers  prove, 
Alike  both  lovers  fall  by  those  they  love : 
Yet  guiltless  too  this  bright  destroyer  lives. 
At  random  wounds,  nor  knows  the  wounds  she  gives: 
She  views  the  story  with  attentive  eyes. 
And  pities  Procris  while  her  lover  dies. 


298  Sl'KCT.VTOR.  NO.    628. 


No.  528.     WEDNESDAY,  NOVEMBER  5,  1712. 


Dum  potuit,  solitd  gemitum  virtuie  repressit. 

OVID.  MET.  ix.  165. 

With  wonted  fortitude  she  bore  the  smart, 

And  not  a  groan  confess' d  her  burning  heart.  gay. 

"  MR.    SPECTATOR, 

"  I  WHO  now  write  to  you  am  a  woman  loaded 
with  injuries  ;  and  the  aggravation  of  my  misfortune 
is,  that  they  are  such  wliicii  are  overlooked  by  the 
generality  of  mankind  ;  and,  though  the  most  afflict- 
ing imaginable,  not  regarded  as  such  in  the  general 
sense  of  the  world.  I  have  hid  my  vexation  from 
all  mankind  ;  but  have  now  taken  pen,  ink,  and 
paper,  and  am  resolved' to  unbosom  myself  to  you, 
and  lay  before  you  what  grieves  me  and  all  the  sex. 
You  have  very  often  mentioned  particular  hardships 
done  to  this  or  that  lady  ;  but  methinks  you  have 
not,  in  any  one  speculation,  directly  pointed  at  the 
partial  freedom  men  take,  the  unreasonable  confine- 
ment women  are  obliged  to,  in  the  only  circumstance 
in  which  we  are  necessarily  to  have  a  commerce 
with  them,  that  of  love.  The  case  of  celibacy  is  the 
great  evil  of  our  nation ;  and  the  indulgence  of  the 
vicious  conduct  of  men  in  that  state,  with  the  ridi- 
cule to  which  women  are  exposed,  though  never  so 
virtuous,  if  long  unmarried,  is  the  root  of  the  greatest 
irregularities  of  this  nation.  To  show  you.  Sir, 
that,  though  you  never  have  given  us  the  catalogue 
of  a  lady's  library,  as  you  oromised,  we  read  books 


NO.    528.  SPECTATOR.  299 

of  our  own  choosing,  I  shall  insert  on  this  occasion 
a  paragraph  or  two  out  of  Echard's  Roman  History. 
In  the  44th  page  of  the  second  volume,  the  author 
observes  that  Augustus,  upon  his  return  to  Rome  at 
the  end  of  a  wai',  received  complaints  that  too  gi'eat 
a  number  of  the  young  men  of  quality  were  un- 
mai'ried.  The  emperor  thereupon  assembled  the 
whole  equestrian  order ;  and,  having  separated  the 
married  from  the  single,  did  particular  honours  to 
the  former;  but  he  told  the  latter,  that  is  to  say, 
Mr.  Spectator,  he  told  the  bachelors,  that  their  lives 
and  actions  had  been  so  peculiar,  that  he  knew  not 
by  what  name  to  call  them  ;  not  by  that  of  men,  for 
they  performed  nothing  that  was  manly  ;  not  by  that 
of  citizens,  for  the  city  might  perish  notwithstand- 
ing their  care  ;  nor  by  that  of  Romans,  for  they  de- 
signed to  extirpate  the  Roman  name.  Then,  pro- 
ceeding to  show  his  tender  care  and  hearty  affection 
for  his  people,  he  further  told  them,  that  their  course 
of  life  was  of  such  pernicious  consequence  to  the 
gloiy  and  grandeur  of  the  Roman  nation,  that  he 
could  not  choose  but  tell  them,  that  all  other  crimes 
put  together  could  not  equalize  theirs,  for  they  were 
guilty  of  murder,  in  not  suffering  those  to  be  born 
which  should  proceed  from  them  ;  of  impiety,  in 
causing  the  names  and  honours  of  their  ancestors 
to  cease  ;  and  of  sacrilege,  in  destroying  their  kind, 
which  proceed  from  the  immortal  gods,  and  human 
nature,  the  principal  thing  consecrated  to  them  ; 
therefore,  in  this  respect,  they  dissolved  the  govern- 
ment in  disobeying  its  laws  ;  betrayed  their  country 
by  making  it  barren  and  waste  ;  nay,  and  demolished 
tlieir  city,  in  depriving  it  of  inhabitants.  And  he 
was  sensible  that  all  this  proceeded  not  from  any 
kind  of  virtue  or  abstinence,  but  from  a  looseness 
and  wantonness  which  oujjht  never  to  be  encourased 


'^00  SPKCTATOR.  NO.    628. 

in  any  fivil  government.  There  are  no  particulars 
dwelt  upon  tliat  let  us  into  the  conduct  of  these 
young  worthies,  whom  this  great  emperor  treated 
with  so  much  justice  and  indignation  ;  but  any  one 
who  observes  what  passes  in  this  town  may  very 
well  frame  to  himself  a  notion  of  their  riots  and 
debaucheries  all  night,  and  their  apparent  prepara- 
tions for  them  all  day.  It  is  not  to  be  doubted 
but  these  Romans  never  passed  any  of  their  time 
innocently  but  when  they  were  asleep,  and  never 
slept  but  when  they  were  weary  and  heavy  with 
excesses,  and  slept  only  to  prepare  themselves  for 
the  repetition  of  them.  If  you  did  your  duty  as  a 
Spectator,  you  would  carefully  examine  into  the 
number  of  births,  marriages,  and  burials  ;  and  when 
you  had  deducted  out  of  your  deaths  all  such  as 
went  out  of  the  world  without  marrying,  then  cast 
up  the  number  of  both  sexes  born  within  such  a 
term  of  years  last  past ;  you  might,  from  the  single 
people  departed,  make  some  useful  inferences  or 
guesses  how  many  there  are  left  unmarried,  and 
raise  some  useful  scheme  for  the  amendment  of  the 
age  in  that  particular.  I  have  not  patience  to  pro- 
ceed gravely  on  this  abominable  libertinism ;  for  I 
cannot  but  reflect,  as  I  am  writing  to  you,  upon  a 
certain  lascivious  manner  which  all  our  young  gen- 
tlemen use  in  public,  and  examine  our  eyes  with  a 
petulancy  in  their  own  which  is  a  downright  affront 
to  modesty.  A  disdainful  look  on  such  an  occasion 
is  returned  with  a  countenance  rebuked  but  by 
averting  their  eyes  from  the  woman  of  honour  and 
decency  to  some  flippant  creature,  who  will,  as  the 
phrase  is,  be  kindei*.  I  must  set  down  things,  as 
they  come  into  my  head,  without  standing  upon  order. 
Ten  thousand  to  one  but  the  gay  gentleman  who 
stared,  at  the  same  time  is  a  housekeeper ;  for  you 


NO.    528.  SPECTATOR.  301 

must  know  they  have  got  into  a  humour  of  late  of 
being  very  regular  in  their  sins  ;  and  a  young  fel- 
low shall  keep  his  four  maids  and  three  footmen 
with  the  greatest  gravity  imaginable.  There  are 
no  less  than  six  of  these  venerable  housekeepers  of 
my  acquaintance.  This  humour  among  young  men 
of  condition  is  imitated  by  all  the  world  below  them, 
and  a  general  dissolution*  of  manners  arises  from 
this  one  source  of  libertinism,  without  shame  or  re- 
prehension in  the  male  youth.  It  is  from  this  one 
fountain  that  so  many  beautiful  helpless  young  wo- 
men are  sacrificed  and  given  up  to  lewdness,  shame, 
poverty,  and  disease.  It  is  to  this  also  that  so  many 
excellent  young  women,  who  might  be  patterns  of 
conjugal  affection,  and  parents  of  a  worthy  race, 
pine  under  unhappy  passions  for  such  as  have  not 
attention  enough  to  observe,  or  virtue  enough  to 
prefer  them  to  their  common  wenches.  Now,  Mr. 
Spectator,  I  must  be  free  to  own  to  you  that  I  my- 
self suffer  a  tasteless  insipid  being,  from  a  considera- 
tion I  have  for  a  man  who  would  not,  as  he  has  said 
in  my  hearing,  resign  his  liberty,  as  he  calls  it,  for 
all  the  beauty  and  wealth  the  whole  sex  is  pos- 
sessed of.  Such  calamities  as  these  would  not 
happen,  if  it  could  possibly  be  brought  about,  that 
by  fining  bachelors  as  papists  convict,  or  the  like, 
they  were  distinguished  to  their  disadvantage  from 
the  rest  of  the  world,  who  fall  in  with  the  measures 
of  civil  society.  Lest  you  should  think  I  speak  this 
as  being,  according  to  the  senseless  rude  phrase,  a 
malicious  old  maid,  I  shall  acquaint  you  I  am  a  wo- 
man of  condition,  not  now  three-and-twenty,  and 
have  had  proposals  from  at  least  ten  different  men, 
and  the  greater  number  of  them  have  upon  the  up- 

*  Dissoluteness. 


302  SPECTATOR.  NO.   529. 

shot  refused  me.  Soinetliiug  or  other  is  always 
amiss  when  the  lover  takes  to  some  new  wench.  A 
settlement  is  easily  excepted  against ;  and  there  is 
very  little  recourse  to  avoid  the  vicious  part  of  our 
youth,  but  throwing  one's  self  away  u|)on  some  life- 
less blockhead,  who,  though  he  is  without  vice,  is  also 
without  virtue.  Nowadays  we  must  be  contented 
if  we  can  get  creatures  which  are  not  bad ;  good  are 
not  to  be  expected.  Mr.  Spectator,  I  sat  near  you 
the  other  day,  and  think  I  did  not  displease  your 
Spectatorial  eyesight ;  which  I  shall  be  a  better  judge 
of  when  I  see  whether  you  take  notice  of  these  evils 
your  own  way,  or  print  this  memorial  dictated  from 
the  disdainful  heavy  heart  of, 
"  Sir, 
"Your  most  obedient  humble  servant, 
T  "  Rachel  Welladat." 


No.  529.     THURSDAY,  NOVEMBER  6,  1712. 


Singula  quceque  locum  teneant  sortita  decenter. 

HOR.   AKS   POET.    92. 

Let  ever}'  thing  have  its  due  place.  Roscommon. 

Upon  the  hearing  of  several  late  disputes  con- 
cerning rank  and  precedence,  I  could  not  forbear 
amusing  myself  with  some  observations,  which  I 
have  made  upon  the  learned  world,  as  to  this  great 
particular.  By  the  learned  world,  I  here  mean  at 
large  all  those  who  are  any  way  concerned  in  works 


NO.    529  SPECTATOR.  303 

of  literature,  whether  in  the  writing,  printing,  or 
repeating  part.  To  begin  with  the  writers.  I  have 
observed  that  the  author  of  a  folio,  in  all  companies 
and  conversations,  sets  himself  above  the  author  of 
a  quarto  ;  the  author  of  a  quarto  above  the  author  of 
an  octavo  ;  and  so  on,  by  a  gradual  descent  and  sub- 
ordination, to  an  author  in  twenty-fours.  This  dis- 
tinction is  so  well  observed,  that  in  an  assembly  of 
the  learned,  I  have  seen  a  folio  writer  place  himself 
in  an  elbow  chair,  when  the  author  of  a  duodecimo 
has,  out  of  a  just  deference  to  his  superior  quality, 
seated  himself  upon  a  squab.  In  a  word,  authors 
are  usually  ranged  in  company  after  the  same  man- 
ner as  their  works  are  upon  a  shelf. 

The  most  minute  pocket  author  hath  beneath  him 
the  writers  of  all  pamphlets,  or  works  that  are  only 
stitched.  As  for  the  pamphleteer,  he  takes  place  of 
none  but  the  authors  of  single  sheets,  and  of  that 
fraternity  who  publish  their  labours  on  certain  days, 
or  on  every  day  in  the  week.  I  do  not  find  that 
the  precedency  among  the  individuals  in  this  latter 
class  of  writers  is  yet  settled. 

For  my  own  part,  I  have  had  so  strict  a  regard  to 
the  ceremonial  which  prevails  in  the  learned  world, 
that  I  never  presumed  to  take  place  of  a  pamphleteer, 
till  my  daily  papers  were  gathered  into  those  first 
two  volumes  which  have  already  appeared.  After 
which,  I  naturally  jumped  over  the  heads  not  only 
of  all  pamphleteers,  but  of  every  octavo  writer  in 
Great  Britain  that  had  written  but  one  book.  I  am 
also  informed  by  my  bookseller,  that  six  octavos 
have  at  all  times  been  looked  upon  as  an  equivalent 
to  a  folio  ;  which  I  take  notice  of  the  rather,  because 
I  would  not  have  the  learned  Avorld  surprised  if, 
after  the  publication  of  half  a  dozen  volumes,  I 
take  my  place  accordingly.     When   my  scattered 


304  SPECTATOU.  NO.    529. 

forces  are  thus  rallied,  and  reduced  into  regular 
bodies,  1  flatter  myself  tliat  I  shall  make  no  despi- 
cable figure  at  the  head  of  them. 

Whether  these  rules,  which  have  been  received 
time  out  of  mind  in  the  commonwealth  of  letters, 
were  not  originally  established  with  an  eye  to  our 
paper-manufacture,  I  shall  leave  to  the  discussion  of 
others;  and  shall  only  remark  further  in  this  place, 
that  all  printers  and  booksellers  take  the  wall  of 
one  another  according  to  the  above-mentioned  me- 
rits of"  the  authors  to  whom  they  respectively  belong. 

I  come  now  to  that  point  of  precedency  which  is 
settled  among  the  three  learned  professions  by  the 
wisdom  of  our  laws.  I  need  not  here  take  notice 
of  the  rank  which  is  allotted  to  every  doctor  in  each 
of  these  professions,  who  are  all  of  them,  though  not 
so  high  as  knights,  yet  a  degree  above  squires  :  this 
last  order  of  men,  being  the  illiterate  body  of  the 
nation,  are  consequently  thrown  together  into  a  class 
below  the  three  learned  professions.*  I  mention 
this  for  the  sake  of  several  rural  squires,  whose 
reading  does  not  rise  so  high  as  to  The  present  State 
of  England,  and  who  are  often  apt  to  usurp  that 
precedency  which  by  the  laws  of  their  country  is  not 
due  to  them.  Their  want  of  learning,  which  has 
planted  them  in  this  station,  may  in  some  measure 
extenuate  their  misdemeanour;  and  our  professors 
ought  to  pardon  them  when  they  offend  in  this  par- 
ticular, considering  that  they  are  in  a  stale  of  igno- 
rance, or,  as  we  usually  say,  do  not  know  their  right 
hand  from  their  left. 

There  is  another  tribe  of  persons  who  are  re- 
tainers to  the  learned  world,  and  who  regulate  them- 

*  In  some  universities,  that  of  Dublin  in  particular,  they  have 
doctors  of  music,  who  take  rank  after  the  doctors  of  the  three 
learned  professions,  and  above  esquires. 


NO.  529.  SPECTATOR.  305 

selves  upon  all  occasions  by  several  laws  peculiar  to 
their  body ;  I  mean  the  players  or  actors  of  both 
sexes.  Among  these,  it  is  a  standing  and  uncontro- 
verted  principle,  that  a  tragedian  always  takes  place 
of  a  comedian ;  and  it  is  vei-y  well  known  the  merry 
drolls  who  make  us  laugh  are  always  placed  at  the 
lower  end  of  the  table,  and  in  every  entertainment 
give  way  to  the  dignity  of  the  buskin.  It  is  a  stage 
maxim,  '  Once  a  king,  and  always  a  king.'  For  this 
reason  it  would  be  thought  very  absurd  in  Mr.  Bul- 
lock, notwithstanding  the  height  and  gracefulness  of 
his  person,  to  sit  at  the  right  hand  of  a  hero,  though 
he  were  but  five  foot  high.  The  same  distinction  is 
observed  among  the  ladies  of  the  theatre.  Queens 
and  heroines  preserve  their  rank  in  private  conver- 
sation, while  those  who  are  waiting  women  and 
maids  of  honour  upon  the  stage  keep  their  distance 
also  behind  the  scenes. 

I  shall  only  add  that,  by  a  parity  of  reason,  all 
writers  of  tragedy  look  upon  it  as  their  due  to  be 
seated,  served,  or  saluted,  before  comic  writers  ; 
those  who  deal  in  tragi-comedy  usually  taking  their 
seats  between  the  authors  of  either  side.  There  has 
been  a  long  dispute  for  precedency  between  the  tra- 
gic and  heroic  poets.  Aristotle  would  have  the  lat- 
ter yield  the  pas  to  the  former ;  but  Mr.  Dryden, 
and  many  others,  would  never  submit  to  this  deci- 
sion. Burlesque  writers  pay  the  same  deference  to 
the  heroic,  as  comic  writers  to  their  serious  brothers 
in  the  drama. 

By  this  short  table  of  laws  order  is  kept  up,  and 
distinction    preserved,  in    the    whole    republic    of 
letters. 
O 

VOL.   XI.  20 


806  srr.CTATon.  xo.  530 


No.  530.    FRIDAY,  NOVEMBER  7,  1712. 


Sic  visum  Vi:iK'ri;  ciii  plitcet  impares 
Formiis  (it'jiic  (inimos  sub  ju(ja  altenea 

S(BVo  miikre  cum  juio.  Hon.  CAK.  i.  33.  10. 

Thus  Venus  sports:  tlic  rich,  the  base, 
Unlike  in  fortune  and  in  face, 
To  disagreeing  love  provokes ; 

When  cruelly  jocose. 

She  ties  the  fatal  noose, 
And  binds  unequals  to  the  brazen  yokes.       creech. 

It  is  very  usual  for  those  who  have  been  severe 
upon  marriage,  in  some  part  or  other  of  their  lives, 
to  enter  into  the  fraternity  which  they  have  ridi- 
culed, and  to  see  their  raillery  return  upon  their  own 
heads.  I  scarce  ever  knew  a  woman-hater  that  did 
not,  sooner  or  later,  pay  for  it.  Marriage,  which 
is  a  blessing  to  another  man,  falls  upon  such  an  one 
as  a  judgment.  Mr.  Congreve's  Old  Bachelor  is  set 
forth  to  us  with  much  wit  and  humour,  as  an  ex- 
ample of  this  kind.  In  short,  those  who  have  most 
distinguished  themselves  by  railing  at  the  sex  in 
general,  very  often  make  an  honourable  amends,  by 
choosing  one  of  the  most  worthless  persons  of  it  for 
a  conij)anion  and  yoke-fellow.  Hymen  takes  his 
revenge  in  kind  on  those  who  turn  his  mysteries 
into  ridicule. 

My  friend  Will  Honeycomb,  who  was  so  unmer- 
cifully witty  upon  the  women,  in  a  couple  of  letters 
which  I  lately  communicated  to  the  public,  has 
given  the  ladies  ample  satisfaction  by  marrying  a 


NO.    530.  SPECTATOR.  307 

farmer's  daughter ;  a  piece  of  news  which  came  to 
our  chib  by  the  last  post.  The  templar  is  very  po- 
sitive that  he  has  married  a  dairymaid  ;  but  Will,  in 
his  letter  to  me  on  this  occasion,  sets  the  best  face 
upon  the  matter  that  he  can,  and  gives  a  more  tole- 
rable account  of  his  spouse.  I  must  confess  I  sus- 
pected something  more  than  ordinary,  when  upon 
opening  the  letter,  I  found  that  Will  was  fallen  off 
from  his  former  gayety,  having  changed,  '  Dear 
Spec,'  which  was  his  usual  salute  at  the  beginning 
of  the  letter,  into  '  My  worthy  Friend,'  and  described 
himself  in  the  latter  end  at  full  length,  William 
Honeycomb.  In  short,  the  gay,  the  loud,  the  vain 
Will  Honeycomb,  who  had  made  love  to  every 
great  fortune  that  has  appeared  in  town  for  about 
thirty  years  together,  and  boasted  of  favours  from 
ladies  whom  he  had  never  seen,  is  at  length  wedded 
to  a  plain  country  girl. 

His  letter  gives  us  the  picture  of  a  converted 
rake.  The  sober  character  of  the  husband  is  dashed 
with  the  man  of  the  town,  and  enlivened  with  those 
little  cant  phrases,  which  have  made  my  friend  Will 
often  thought  very  pretty  company.  But  let  us  hear 
what  he  says  for  himself. 

"  MY  WORTHY   FRIEND, 

"  I  question  not  but  you,  and  the  rest  of  my  ac- 
quaintance, wonder  that  I,  who  have  lived  in  the 
smoke  and  gallantries  of  the  town  for  thirty  years 
together,  should  all  on  a  sudden  grow  fond  of  a 
country  life.  Had  not  my  dog  of  a  steward  ran  away 
as  he  did  without  making  up  his  accounts,  I  had  still 
been  immersed  in  sin  and  sea-coal.  But  since  my 
late  foi'ced  visit  to  my  estate,  I  am  so  pleased  with 
it,  that  I  am  resolved  to  live  and  die  upon  it.    I  am 


308  SPECTATOR.  KO.   530. 

every  day  abroad  among  niy  acres,  and  can  scarce 
forbear  filling  my  letter  with  breezes,  shades,  flow- 
ers, meadows,  and  purling  streams.  The  simplicity 
of  manners,  which  I  have  heard  yon  so  often  speak 
of,  and  which  appears  here  in  perfection,  charms  me 
wonderfully.  As  an  instance  of  it  I  must  acquaint 
you,  and  by  your  means  the  whole  club,  that  1  have 
lately  married  one  of  my  tenant's  daughters.  She 
is  born  of  honest  parents ;  and  though  she  has  no 
portion,  she  has  a  great  deal  of  virtue.  The  natural 
sweetness  and  innocence  of  her  behaviour,  the  fresh- 
ness of  her  complexion,  the  unaffected  turn  of  her 
shape  and  person,  shot  me  through  and  through 
every  time  I  saw  her,  and  did  more  execution  upon 
me  in  grogram  than  the  greatest  beauty  in  town  or 
court  had  ever  done  in  brocade.  In  short,  she  is 
such  an  one  as  promises  me  a  good  heir  to  my  estate ; 
and  if  by  her  means  I  cannot  leave  to  my  children 
what  are  falsely  called  the  gifts  of  birth,  high  titles, 
and  alliances,  I  hope  to  convey  to  them  the  more 
real  and  valuable  gifts  of  birth, — strong  bodies,  and 
healthy  constitutions.  As  for  your  fine  women,  I 
need  not  tell  thee  that  I  know  them.  I  have  had 
my  share  in  their  graces ;  but  no  more  of  that.  It 
shall  be  my  business  hereafter  to  live  the  life  of  an 
honest  man,  and  to  act  as  becomes  the  master  of  a 
family.  I  question  not  but  I  shall  draw  upon  me 
the  raillery  of  the  town,  and  be  treated  to  the  tune 
of,  '  The  Marriage-hater  Matched  ; '  but  I  am  pre- 
pared for  it.  I  have  been  as  witty  upon  others  in 
my  time.  To  tell  thee  truly,  I  saw  such  a  tribe  of 
fashionable  young  fluttering  coxcombs  shot  up,  that 
I  did  not  think  my  post  of"  an  homme  de  ruelle  any 
longer  tenable.  I  felt  a  certain  stiflf'ness  in  my  limbs, 
which  entirely  destroyed  that  jantiness  of  air  I  was 
once  master  of.    Besides,  for  I  may  now  confess  my 


NO.   531.  SPECTATOR.  309 

age  to  thee,  I  have  been  eight-and-forty  above  these 
twelve  years.  Since  my  retirement  into  the  country 
will  make  a  vacancy  in  the  club,  I  could  wish  you 
would  fill  up  my  place  with  my  friend  Tom  Dapper- 
wit.  He  has  an  infinite  deal  of  fire,  and  knows  the 
town.  For  my  own  part,  as  I  have  said  before,  1 
shall  endeavour  to  live  hereafter  suitable  to  a  man 
in  my  station,  as  a  prudent  head  of  a  family,  a  good 
husband,  a  careful  father,  when  it  shall  so  happen, 
and  as 

"  Your  most  sincere  friend, 

"William  Honeycomb." 


No.  531.     SATURDAY,  NOVEMBER  8,  1712. 


Qui  mare  et  terras,  variisque  mundum 

Temperat  horis  : 
Unde  nil  majus  generatur  ipso  ; 
Nee  viget  quicquam  simile,  aui  secundum. 

HOR.    CAE.  i.  12.  15. 

Who  guides  below,  and  rules  above, 

The  great  Disposer,  and  the  mighty  King: 

Than  He  none  greater,  like  him  none, 

Than  can  be,  is,  or  was ; 
Supreme  He  singly  fills  the  throne.  ckeech. 

SiMONiDES  being  asked  by  Dionysius  the  tyrant 
what  God  was,  desired  a  day's  time  to  consider  of  it 
before  he  made  his  reply.  When  the  day  was  ex- 
pired he  desired  two  days  ;  and  afterwards,  instead 
of  returning  his  answer,  demanded  still  double  the 
time  to  consider  of  it.     This  great  poet  and  philo- 


310  SrECTATOK.  NO.    631. 

soplicr,  (he  more  he  cunteinplaled  the  nature  of  the 
Deity,  Ibund  that  he  waded  but  tlie  more  out  of  his 
depth ;  and  that  he  lost  himself  in  the  thought,  in- 
stead of  finding  an  end  of  it. 

If  we  consider  the  idea  which  wise  men,  by  the 
light  of  reason,  have  framed  of  the  Divine  Being,  it 
amounts  to  this  ;  that  he  has  in  him  all  the  perfec- 
tion of  a  spiritual  nature.  And,  since  we  have  no 
notion  of  any  kind  of  spiritual  perfection  but  what 
we  discover  in  our  own  souls,  we  join  infinitude  to 
each  kind  of  these  perfections,  and  what  is  a  faculty 
in  a  human  soul  becomes  an  attribute  in  God.  We 
exist  in  place  and  time;  the  Divine  Being  fills  the 
immensity  of  space  with  his  presence,  and  inhabits 
eternity.  We  are  possessed  of  a  little  power  and  a 
little  knowledge;  the  Divine  Being  is  almighty  and 
omniscient.  In  short,  by  adding  infinity  to  any  kind 
of  perfection  we  enjoy,  and  by  joining  all  these  dif- 
ferent kinds  of  perfections  in  one  being,  we  form  our 
idea  of  the  great  Sovereign  of  Nature. 

Though  every  one  who  thinks  must  have  made 
this  observation,  I  shall  produce  Mr.  Locke's  author- 
ity to  the  same  purpose  out  of  his  Essay  on  Human 
Understanding.  "  If  we  examine  the  idea  we  have 
of  the  incomprehensible  Supreme  Being,  we  shall 
find  that  we  come  by  it  the  same  way;  and  that  the 
comitlex  ideas  we  have  both  of  God  and  separate 
spirits,  are  made  up  of  the  simple  ideas  we  receive 
li'om  reflection ;  v.  g,  having,  from  what  we  expe- 
rience in  ourselves,  got  the  ideas  of  existence  and 
duration,  of  knowledge  and  power,  of  pleasure  and 
happiness,  and  of  several  other  qualities  and  powers, 
whicli  it  is  better  to  have  than  to  be  witliout ;  when 
we  would  frame  an  idea  the  most  suitable  we  can  to 
the  Supreme  Being,  we  enlarge  every  one  of  these 
with  our  idea  of  infinity  ;  and  so  putting  them  toge- 
ther make  our  complex  idea  of  God." 


NO.   631.  SPECTATOR.  311 

It  is  not  impossible  tliat  there  may  be  many  kinds 
of  spii'itual  perfection,  besides  those  which  are  lodged 
in  a  human  soul ;  but  it  is  impossible  that  we  should 
have  the  ideas  of  any  kinds  of  perfection,  except 
those  of  which  we  have  some  small  rays  and  short 
imperfect  strokes  in  ourselves.  It  would  there- 
fore be  very  high  presumption  to  determine  wliether 
the  Supreme  Being  has  not  many  more  attributes 
than  those  which  enter  into  our  conceptions  of  him. 
This  is  certain,  that  if  there  be  any  kind  of  spiritual 
perfection  which  is  not  marked  out  in  a  human  soul, 
it  belongs  in  its  fulness  to  the  divine  nature. 

Several  eminent  philosophers  have  imagined  that 
the  soul,  in  her  separate  state,  may  have  new  facul- 
ties springiiig  up  in  her,  which  she  is  not  capable 
of  exerting  during  her  present  union  with  the  body ; 
and  whether  these  faculties  may  not  correspond 
with  other  attributes  in  the  divine  nature,  and  open 
to  us  hereafter  new  matter  of  wonder  and  adoration, 
we  are  altogether  ignorant.  This,  as  I  have  said 
before,  we  ought  to  acquiesce  in,  that  the  Sovereign 
Being,  the  great  Author  of  nature,  has  in  him  all 
possible  perfection,  as  well  in  kind  as  in  degree :  to 
speak  according  to  our  methods  of  conceiving,  I 
shall  only  add  under  this  head,  that  when  we  have 
raised  our  notion  of  this  Infinite  Being  as  high  as  it 
is  possible  for  the  mind  of  man  to  go,  it  will  fall  in- 
finitely short  of  what  he  really  is.  '  There  is  no  end 
of  his  greatness.'  The  most  exalted  creature  he  has 
made  is  only  capable  of  adoring  it,  none  but  himself 
can  comprehend  it. 

The  advice  of  the  son  of  Sirach  is  very  just  and 
sublime  in  this  light.  "  By  his  word  all  things  con- 
sist. We  may  speak  much,  and  yet  come  short ; 
wherefore  in  sum  he  is  all.  How  shall  we  be  able 
to  magnify  him  ?  for  he  is  great  above  all  his  works. 


312  SPECTATOR.  NO.   531. 

The  Lord  is  terrible  and  very  great ;  and  marvel- 
lou.<  is  his  power.  When  you  glorify  the  Lord, 
exalt  him  as  much  as  you  can  ;  for  even  yet  will  he 
far  exceed.  And  when  you  exalt  him,  put  fortli  all 
your  strength,  and  be  not  weary;  for  you  can  never 
go  far  enough.  Who  hath  seen  him,  that  he  might 
tell  us  ?  and  who  can  magnify  him  as  he  is  ?  There 
are  yet  hid  greater  things  than  these  be,  for  we  have 
seen  but  a  few  of  his  works." 

I  have  here  only  considered  the  Supreme  Being 
by  the  light  of  reason  and  philosophy.  If  we  would 
see  him  in  all  the  wonders  of  his  mercy,  we  must 
have  recourse  to  revelation,  which  represents  him 
to  us  not  only  as  infinitely  great  and  glorious,  but 
as  infinitely  good  and  just  in  his  dispensations  to- 
wards man.  But  as  this  is  a  theory  which  falls  un- 
der every  one's  consideration,  though  indeed  it  can 
never  be  sufficiently  considered,  I  shall  here  only 
take  notice  of  that  habitual  worship  and  veneration 
wlircli  we  ought  to  pay  to  this  Almighty  Being. 
We  should  often  refresh  our  minds  with  the  thoughts 
of  him,  and  annihilate  ourselves  before  him,  in  the 
contemplation  of  our  own  worthlessness,  and  of  his 
transcendent  excellency  and  perfection.  This  would 
imprint  in  our  minds  such  a  constant  and  uninter- 
rupted awe  and  veneration  as  that  which  I  am  here 
recommending,  and  which  is  in  reality  a  kind  of  in- 
cessant prayer,  and  a  reasonable  humiliation  of  the 
soul  before  him  who  made  it. 

This  would  effectually  kill  in  us  all  the  little  seeds 
of  pride,  vanity,  and  self-conceit,  which  are  apt  to 
shoot  up  in  the  minds  of  such  whose  thoughts  turn 
more  on  those  comparative  advantages  which  they 
enjoy  over  some  of  their  fellow-creatures,  than  on 
that  infinite  distance  which  is  placed  between  them 
and  the  supreme  model  of  all  perfection.     It  would 


NO.    531.  SPECTATOR.  313 

likewise  quicken  our  desires  and  endeavours  of 
uniting  ourselves  to  him  by  all  the  acts  of  religion 
and  virtue. 

Such  an  habitual  homage  to  the  Supreme  Being 
would,  in  a  particular  manner,  banish  from  amonDf 
us  that  prevailing  impiety  of  using  his  name  on  the 
most  trivial  occasions. 

I  find  the  following  passage  in  an  excellent  ser- 
mon, preached  at  the  funeral  of  a  gentleman  *  who 
was  an  honour  to  his  country,  and  a  more  diligent 
as  well  as  successful  inquirer  into  the  works  of  na- 
ture than  any  other  our  nation  has  ever  produced. 
"  He  had  the  profoundest  veneration  for  the  great 
God  of  heaven  and  earth  that  I  have  ever  observed 
in  any  person.  The  very  name  of  God  was  never 
mentioned  by  him  without  a  pause  and  a  visible 
stop  in  his  discourse ;  in  w^hich  one  that  knew  him 
most  particularly  above  twenty  years,  has  told  me 
that  he  was  so  exact,  that  he  does  not  remember  to 
have  observed  him  once  to  fail  in  it." 

Every  one  knows  the  veneration  which  was  paid 
by  the  Jews  to  a  name  so  great,  wonderful,  and 
holy.  They  would  not  let  it  enter  even  into  their 
rehgious  discourses.  What  can  we  then  think  of 
those  who  make  use  of  so  tremendous  a  name  in  the 
ordinary  expressions  of  their  anger,  mirth,  and  most 
impertinent  passions?  of  those  who  admit  it  into 
the  most  familiar  questions  and  assertions,  ludicrous 
phrases,  and  works  of  humour  ?  not  to  mention  those 
who  violate  it  by  solemn  perjuries !  It  would  be  an 
affront  to  reason  to  endeavour  to  set  forth  the  horror 
and  profaneness  of  such  a  practice.  The  very  men- 
tion of  it  exposes  it  sufficiently  to  those  in  whom 

*  See  Bishop  Burnet's  Sermon,  preached  at  the  funeral  of 
the  Honourable  Robert  Boyle. 


314  SPECTATOJR. 


NO.   532. 


the  light  of  nature,  not  to  say  religion,  is  not  utterly 
extinguished. 

o 


No.  532.     MONDAY,  NOVEMBER  10,  1712. 


— Fumjar  vice  cot'is,  acutum 
Heddere  quoe  ferrum  valet,  txsors  ipsa  secatidi. 

HOK.    AKS  POET.    304. 

I  play  the  whetstone;  useless,  and  unfit 

To  cut  mj'self,  I  siiarpeu  othei"s'  wit.  ckeech. 

It  is  a  very  honest  action  to  be  studious  to  pro- 
duce other  men's  merit ;  and  I  make  no  scruple  of 
saying,  I  have  as  much  of  this  temper  as  any  man 
in  the  world.  It  would  not  be  a  thing  to  be  bra^ijed 
01,  but  tliat  It  IS  what  any  man  may  be  master  of, 
who  will  take  pains  enough  for  it.  Much  observa- 
tion of  the  unworthiness  in  being  pained  at  the  ex- 
cellence of  another,  will  bring  you  to  a  scorn  of 
yourself  for  that  unwillingness  ;  and  when  you  have 
got  so  far,  you  will  find  it  a  greater  pleasure  than 
you  ever  before  knew  to  be  zealous  in  promoting 
the  fame  and  welfare  of  the  praiseworthy.  I  do 
not  speak  this  as  pretending  to  be  a  mortified  self- 
denying  man,  but  as  one  who  has  turned  his  ambi- 
tion into  a  right  channel.  I  claim  to  myself  the 
merit  of  having  extorted  excellent  productions  from 
a  person  of  the  greatest  abilities,  who  would  not 
have  let  them  appeared  by  any  other  means  ;  *  to 

*  Addison. 


NO.    532,  SPECTATOK.  315 

have  animated  a  tew  young  gentleman  into  worthy 
pursuits,  who  will  be  a  glory  to  our  age  :  and  at  all 
times,  and  by  all  possible  means  in  my  power,  un- 
dermined the  interests  of  ignorance,  vice,  and  folly, 
and  attempted  to  substitute  in  their  stead,  learning, 
piety,  and  good  sense.  It  is  from  this  honest  heart 
that  I  find  myself  honoured  as  a  gentleman-usher 
to  the  arts  and  sciences.  Mr.  Tickell  and  Mr.  Pope 
have,  it  seems,  this  idea  of  me.  The  former  has 
writ  me  an  excellent  paper  of  verses,  in  praise,  for- 
sooth, of  myself;  and  the  other  inclosed  for  my 
perusal  an  admirable  poem,*  which  I  hope  will 
shortly  see  the  light.  In  the  mean  time  I  cannot 
suppress  any  thought  of  his,  but  insert  this  senti- 
ment about  the  dying  words  of  Adrian.  I  won't 
determine  in  the  case  he  mentions  ;  but  have  thus 
much  to  say  in  favour  of  his  argument,  that  many 
of  his  own  works  which  I  have  seen,  convince  me 
that  very  pretty  and  very  sublime  sentiments  may 
be  lodged  in  the  same  bosom  without  diminution  of 
its  greatness. 

''  MR.   SPECTATOR, 

"  I  was  the  other  day  in  company  with  five  or 
six  men  of  some  learning ;  where,  chancing  to  men- 
tion the  famous  verses  which  the  emperor  Adrian 
spoke  on  his  deathbed,  they  were  all  agreed  that  it 
was  a  piece  of  gayety  unworthy  that  prince  in  those 
circumstances.  I  could  not  but  dissent  from  this 
opinion.  Methinks  it  was  hy  no  means  a  gay,  but 
a  vei-y  serious  soliloquy  to  his  soul  at  the  point  of 
liis  departure  :  in  which  sense  T  naturally  took  the 
verses  at  my  first  reading  them,  when  1  was  very 
young,  and  before  I  knew  what  interpretation  the 
world  generally  put  upon  them. 

*  The  Temple  of  Fame. 


31G  SPECTATOR.  NO.    532. 

Animiihi  vnr/ula,  blamlula, 
HusjHS  lomesniie  corporis, 
Qiiai  nunc  iibibis  in  loca  f 
Pnliifliiln,  ritfi/ln,  nudula, 
Nee,  ui  soles,  dabis  joca  ! 

'Alas,  my  soul !  tliuu  pleasing  companion  ot"  this 
body,  thou  fleeting  thing  that  art  now  deserting  it, 
wiiither  art  thou  flying?  to  what  unknown  region? 
Thou  art  all  trembling,  tearful,  and  pensive.  Now 
what  is  become  of  thy  former  wit  and  humour? 
Thou  sbalt  jest  and  be  gay  no  more.' 

"  I  confess  I  cannot  apprehend  where  lies  tlie  tri- 
fling in  all  this ;  it  is  the  most  natural  and  obvious 
reflection  imaginable  to  a  dying  man  ;  and.  if  we 
consider  the  emperor  was  a  heathen,  that  doubt  con- 
cerning the  future  fate  of  his  soul  will  seem  so  far 
from  being  the  effect  of  want  of  thought,  that  it 
was  scarce  reasonable  he  should  think  othei'wise ; 
not  to  mention  that  here  is  a  plain  confession  in- 
cluded of  his  belief  in  its  immortality.  The  dimi- 
nutive epithets  of  vagula,  blandtda,  and  the  rest,  ap- 
pear not  to  me  as  expressions  of  levity,  but  rather 
>f  endearment  and  concern ;  such  as  we  find  in  Ca- 
tullus, and  the  authors  of  Ilendecasyllabi  after  him, 
where  they  are  used  to  express  the  utmost  love  and 
tenderness  for  their  mistresses. — If  you  think  me 
right  in  my  notion  of  the  last  words  of  Adi'ian,  be 
pleased  to  insert  this  in  the  Spectator ;  if  not,  to 
suppress  it. 

"  I  am,"  &c. 

TO  THE  SUPPOSED  AUTHOR  OF  THE  SPECTATOR. 

In  courts  licentious,  and  a  shameless  stage, 
How  Ions  the  war  shall  wit  with  virtue  wage? 
Enchanted  by  this  prostituted  fair, 
Our  youth  run  headlong  in  the  fatal  snare ; 
In  height  of  rapture  clasp  unheeded  pains, 
And  suck  pollution  through  their  tingling  veins. 


NO.   532.  SPECTATOR.  317 

Thy  spotless  thoughts  unshock'd  the  priest  may  hear, 
And  the  pure  vestal  in  her  bosom  wear. 
To  conscious  blushes,  and  diminished  pride 
Thy  glass  betrays  what  treacherous  love  would  hide ; 
Nor  harsh  thy  precepts,  but  infused  by  stealth. 
Please  while  they  cure,  and  cheat  us  into  health. 
Thy  works  in  Chloe's  toilet  gain  a  part, 
And  with  his  tailor  share  the  fopUng's  heart: 
Lash'd  in  thy  satire,  the  penurious  cit 
Laughs  at  himself,  and  finds  no  harm  in  wit: 
From  felon  gamesters  the  raw  'squire  is  free, 
And  Britain  owes  her  rescued  oaks  to  thee.* 
His  Miss  the  frolic  viscountf  dreads  to  toast. 
Or  his  third  cure  the  shallow  templar  boast; 
And  the  rush  fool  who  scorn'd  the  beaten  road. 
Dares  quake  at  thunder,  and  confess  his  God. 

The  brainless  stripling,  who,  expell'd  to  town, 
Damn'd  the  stiff  college  and  pedantic  gown, 
Awed  by  thy  name  is  dumb,  and  thrice  a  week 
Spells  uncouth  Latin  and  ])retends  to  Greek. 
A  saunt'ring  tribe!  such,  born  to  wide  estates. 
With  '  yea  '  and  '  no  '  in  senates  hold  debates : 
At  length  despised,  each  to  his  fields  retires. 
First  with  the  dogs,  and  king  amidst  the  'squires; 
From  pert  to  stupid  sinks  supinely  down, 
In  youth  a  coxcomb,  and  in  age  a  clown. 

Such  readers  scorn'd,  thou  wing'st  thy  daring  flight 
Above  the  stars,  and  tread'st  the  fields  of  light: 
Fame,  heaven,  and  hell,  are  thy  exalted  theme. 
And  visions  such  as  .Jove  himself  might  dream; 
Man  sunk  to  slavery,  though  to  glory  born. 
Heaven's  pride  when  upright,  and,  depraved,  his  scorn. 

Such  hints  alone  could  British  Virgil  lend,{ 
And  thou  alone  deserve  from  such  a  friend: 
A  debt  so  borrow'd,  is  illustrious  shame. 
And  fame  when  shared  with  him  is  double  fame. 
So  flushed  with  sweets,  by  beauty's  queen  bestow'd, 
With  more  than  mortal  charms  yEneas  glow'd: 
Such  gen'rous  strifes  Eugene  and  Marlbro'  tiy, 
And  as  in  glory  so  in  friendship  vie. 

*  Mr.  Tickell  here  alludes  to  Steele's  papers  agamst  the 
Bharpers,  &c.  in  the  Tatler,  and  particularly  to  a  letter  in  Tat. 
No.  73,  signed  Will  Trusty,  and  written  by  Mr.  John  Hughes. 

t  Viscount  Bolingbroke. 

X  A  compliment  to  Addison. 


318  SPECTATOR.  NO.   532. 

Permit  these  lines  bv  thee  to  live — nor  bliime 
A  muse  thiit  [iiints  and  iaiifrui-ihes  lor  fame; 
That  Tears  to  sink  when  humbler  themes  she  sings, 
Lost  in  the  mass  of  mean  forgotten  things. 
Received  by  thee,  I  prophesy  my  rhymes 
The  praise  of  virgins  in  succeeding  "times: 
Mix'd  with  thy  works,  their  life  no  bounds  shall  see, 
But  stand  protected  as  inspired  by  thee. 

So  some  weak, shoot,  which  else  would  poorly  rise, 
Jove's  tree  adopts,  and  lifts  him  to  the  skies ; 
Through  the  new  pupil  fost'ring  juices  flow, 
Thrust  forth  the  gems,  and  give  the  flowers  to  blow 
Aloft,  immortal  reigns  the  plant  unknown, 
With  borrow'd  life,  aud  vigour  not  his  own.* 

"  TO    THE   SPECTATOR-GEXERAL. 

"Mr.  John  Slt  humble  showetli, 

"  That  upon  reading  the  deputation  given  to  the 
said  Mr.  John  Sly,  iill  persons  passing  by  his  ob- 
servatory behaved  themselves  with  the  same  de- 
corum as  if  your  honour  yourself  had  been  present. 

"  That  your  said  otficer  is  preparing,  according 
to  your  honour's  secret  instructions,  hats  for  the  se- 
veral kinds  of  heads  that  make  figures  in  the  realms 
of  GJreat  Britain,  with  cocks  significant  of  their 
powers  and  faculties. 

"  That  your  said  officer  has  taken  due  notice  of 
your  instructions  and  admonitions  concerning  the 
internals  of  the  head  from  the  outward  form  of  the 
same.  His  hats  for  men  of  the  faculties  of  law  and 
physic  do  but  just  turn  up,  to  give  a  little  life  to 
their  sagacity  ;  his  military  hats  glare  full  in  the 
face  ;  and  he  has  prepared  a  familiar  easy  cock  for 
all  good  companions  between  the  above-mentioned 
extremes.  For  this  end,  he  has  consulted  the  most 
learned  of  his  acquaintance  for  the  true  form  and 
dimensions  of  the  lepidmn  caput,  and  made  a  hat 
fit  for  it. 

*  By  Mr.  Thomas  TickeU. 


NO.  533.  SPECTATOR.  319 

"  Your  said  officer  does  further  represent,  That 
the  young  divines  about  town  are  many  of  them  got 
into  the  cock  military,  and  desires  your  instructions 
therein. 

"  That  the  town  has  been  for  several  days  very 
well-behaved,  and  further  your  said  officer  saith  not." 

T 


No    533     TUESDAY,  NOVEMBER  11,  1712. 


Immo  duas  dabo,  inquit  ille,  una  diMrum  est : 

El  si  duaruni  pcznittbil,  addentur  diwe.  plaut. 

Nay,  says  he,  if  one  is  too  little,  I  will  give  you  two:  and  if  two 
will  not  satisfy  you,  I  will  add  two  more. 

''  TO    THE   SPECTATOR. 
"  SIR, 

"  You  have  often  given  us  very  excellent  dis- 
courses against  that  unnatural  custom  of  parents, 
in  forcing  their  children  to  marry  contrary  to  their 
inclinations.  My  own  case,  without  further  pre- 
face, I  will  lay  before  you,  and  leave  you  to  judge 
of  it.  My  father  and  mother  both  being  in  declining 
years  would  fain  see  me,  their  eldest  son,  as  they 
tall  it,  settled.  I  am  as  much  for  that  as  they  can 
be ;  but  1  must  be  settled,  it  seems,  not  according 
to  my  own,  but  their  liking.  Upon  this  account  I 
am  teased  every  day,  because  I  have  not  yet  fallen 
in  love,  in  spite  of  nature,  with  one  of  a  neighbour- 
ing gentleman's  daughters ;  for,  out  of  their  abun- 


320  SPECTATOR.  NO.   538. 

dant  generosity,  tliey  give  me  the  choice  of  four. 
'Jack,'  begins  my  father,  'Mrs.  Catharine  is  a  fine 
woman.' — '  Yes,  Sir,  but  she  is  rather  too  old.' — 
'  Sin;  will  make  the  more  discreet  manager,  boy.' 
Then  my  mother  plays  her  part.  '  Is  not  Mrs.  Betty 
exceeding  fair  ? ' — '  Yes,  Madam,  but  she  is  of  no 
conversation  ;  she  has  no  lire,  no  agreeable  viva- 
city;  she  neither  speaks  nor  looks  with  spirit.' — 
'  True,  son,  but  for  those  reasons  she  will  be  an 
easy,  soft,  obliging,  tractable  creature.' — '  After  all,' 
cries  an  old  aunt,  who  belongs  to  the  class  of  those 
who  read  plays  with  spectacles  on,  '  what  think  you, 
nephew,  of  proper  Mrs.  Dorothy  ?  ' — '  What  do  I 
think  ?  why,  I  think  she  cannot  be  above  six  foot  * 
two  inches  high.' — '  Well,  well,  you  may  banter  as 
long  as  you  please,  but  height  of  stature  is  command- 
ing and  majestic' — '  Come,  come,'  says  a  cousin  of 
mine  in  the  family,  '  I  will  fit  him ;  Fidelia  is  yet 
behind — pretty  Miss  Fiddy  must  please  you.' — 
'Oh  !  your  very  humble  servant,  dear  coz,  she  is  as 
much  too  young  as  her  eldest  sister  is  too  old.' — '  Is 
it  so  indeed,'  quoth  she,  'good  Mr.  Pert?  You  who 
barely  are  but  turned  of  twenty-two,  and  Miss  Fiddy 
in  half  a  year's  time  will  be  in  her  teens,  and  she  is 
capable  of  learning  any  thing.  Then  she  will  be  so 
observant ;  she  will  cry  perhaps  now  and  then,  but 
never  be  angry.'  Thus  they  will  think  for  me  in 
this  matter,  wherein  I  am  more  particularly  con- 
cerned than  anybody  else.  If  I  name  any  woman 
in  the  world,  one  of  these  daughters  has  certainly 
the  same  qualities.  You  see  by  these  few  hints, 
Mr.  Spectator,  what  a  comfortable  life  I  lead.  To 
be  still  more  open  and  free  with  you,  I  have  been 
passionately  fond  of  a  young  lady,  whom  give  me 

*  Feet. 


NO.   533.  SPECTATOR.  321 

leave  to  call  Miranda,  no^v  for  these  three  years.  I 
have  often  urged  the  matter  home  to  my  parents 
with  all  the  submission  of  a  son,  but  the  impatience 
of  a  lover.  Pray,  Sir,  think  of  thi-ee  yeai's  ;  what 
inexpressible  scenes  of  inquietude,  what  variety  of 
misery  must  I  have  gone  through  in  three  long, 
whole  years !  IMiranda's  fortune  is  equal  to  those 
I  have  mentioned;  but  her  relations  are  not  inti- 
mates with  mine  !  Ah  !  there's  the  rub  !  Miranda's 
person,  wit,  and  humour,  are  what  the  nicest  fancy 
could  imagine ;  and,  though  we  know  you  to  be  so 
elegant  a  judge  of  beauty,  yet  there  is  none  among 
all  your  various  characters  of  fine  women  prefer- 
able to  Miranda.  In  a  word,  she  is  never  guilty  of 
doing  any  thing  but  one  amiss,  if  she  can  be  thought 
to  do  amiss  by  me,  in  being  as  blind  to  my  faults, 
as  she  is  to  her  own  perfections. 
"I  am,  Sir, 

"  Your  very  humble, 
"  obedient  servant, 

"  DUSTERERASTUS." 
"  MR.    SPECTATOR, 

"  When  you  spent  so  much  time  as  you  did  lately 
m  censuring  the  ambitious  young  gentlemen  who 
ride  in  triumph  thi'ough  town  and  country  on  coach- 
boxes, I  wished  you  had  employed  those  moments 
in  consideration  of  what  passes  sometimes  within- 
side  of  those  vehicles.  I  am  sure,  I  suffered  suffi- 
ciently by  the  insolence  and  ill-breeding  of  some 
persons  who  travelled  lately  with  me  in  the  stage- 
coach, out  of  Essex  to  London.  I  am  sure,  when 
you  have  heard  what  I  have  to  say,  you  will  think 
there  are  persons  under  the  character  of  gentlemen, 
that  are  fit  to  be  nowhere  else  but  in  the  coach- 
box.    Sir,  I  am  a  young  woman  of  a  sober  and  re- 

VOL.    XI.  21 


322  SPECTATOR.  NO.    533. 

ligious  education,  and  have  preserved  that  character  ; 
but  on  Monday  was  fortnight,  it  was  my  misfortune 
to  come  to  London.  1  was  no  sooner  chipped  into 
the  coach,  but  to  my  great  surprise  two  persons  in 
the  habit  of  gentlemen  attacked  me  witli  such  inde- 
cent discourse  as  I  cannot  repeat  to  you,  so  you  may 
conclude  not  fit  for  me  to  hear.  I  had  no  relief  but 
the  hopes  of  a  speedy  end  of  my  short  journey.  Sir, 
form  to  yourself  what  a  persecution  this  must  needs 
be  to  a  virtuous  and  chaste  mind ;  and,  in  order  to 
your  proper  handling  such  a  subject,  fancy  your 
wife  or  daughter,  if  you  had  any,  in  such  circum- 
stances, and  what  treatment  you  would  think  then 
due  to  such  dragoons.  One  of  them  was  called  a 
Captain,  and  entertained  us  with  nothing  but  filthy 
stupid  questions,  or  lewd  songs,  all  the  way.  Ready 
to  burst  with  shame  and  indignation,  I  repined  that 
nature  had  not  allowed  us  as  easily  to  shut  our  ears 
as  our  eyes.  But  was  not  this  a  kind  of  rape  ?  Why 
should  there  be  accessaries  in  ravishment  any  more 
than  murder?  Why  should  not  every  contributor 
to  the  abuse  of  chastity  suffer  death  ?  I  am  sure 
these  shameless  hell-hounds  deserved  it  highly.  Can 
you  exert  yourself  better  than  on  such  an  occasion? 
If  you  do  not  do  it  effectually,  I  will  read  no  more 
of  your  papers.  Has  every  impertinent  fellow  a 
privilege  to  torment  me,  who  pay  my  coach-hire  as 
well  as  he?  Sir,  pray  consider  us  in  this  respect 
as  the  weakest  sex,  who  have  nothing  to  defend  our- 
selves ;  and  I  think  it  is  as  gentleman-like  to  chal- 
lenge a  woman  to  fight  as  to  talk  obscenely  in  her 
company,  especially  when  she  has  not  power  to  stir. 
Pray  let  me  tell  you  a  story  which  you  can  make 
fit  for  public  view.  I  knew  a  gentleman,  who 
having  a  very  good  opinion  of  the  gentlemen  of  the 
army,  invited  ten  or   twelve   of  them   to  sup  with 


NO.   533.  SPECTATOR.  323 

him ;  and  at  the  same  time  invited  two  or  three 
friends  who  were  very  severe  against  the  manners 
and  morals  of  gentlemen  of  that  profession.  It  hap- 
pened one  of  them  brought  two  captains  of  his  regi- 
ment newly  come  into  the  army,  who  at  first  onset 
engaged  the  company  with  very  lewd  healths  and 
suitable  discourse.  You  may  easily  imagine  the 
confusion  of  the  entertainer,  who,  finding  some  of 
his  friends  very  uneasy,  desired  to  tell  them  the 
story  of  a  great  man,  one  Mr.  Locke,  whom  I  find 
you  frequently  mention,  that,  being  invited  to  dine 
with  the  then  Lords  Halifax,  Anglesey,  and  Shaftes- 
bury, immediately  after  dinner,  instead  of  conver- 
sation, the  cards  were  called  for,  where  the  bad 
or  good  success  produced  the  usual  passions  of 
gaming.  Mr.  Locke  retiring  to  a  window,  and 
writing,  my  Lord  Anglesey  desired  to  know  what 
he  was  writing :  '  Why,  my  lords,'  answered  he,  '  I 
could  not  sleep  last  night  for  the  pleasure  and  im- 
provement I  expected  from  the  conversation  of  the 
greatest  men  of  the  age.'  This  so  sensibly  stung 
them,  that  they  gladly  compounded  to  throw  their 
cards  in  the  fire,  if  he  would  his  paper,  and  so  a 
conversation  ensued  fit  for  such  persons.  This  story 
pressed  so  hard  upon  the  young  captains,  together 
with  the  concurrence  of  their  superior  officers,  that 
the  young  fellows  left  the  company  in  confusion. 
Sir,  I  know  you  hate  long  things ;  but  if  you  like  it, 
you  may  contract  it,  or  how  you  will ;  but  I  think 
it  has  a  moral  in  it. 

"  But,  Sir,  I  am  told  you  are  a  famous  mechanic 
as  well  as  a  looker-on,  and  therefore  humbly  pro- 
pose you  would  invent  some  padlock,  with  full  power 
under  your  hand  and  seal,  for  all  modest  persons, 
either  men  or  women,  to  clap  upon  the  mouths  of 
all  such  impertinent  impudent  fellows :  and  I  wish 


324  SPECTATOR.  NO.    534. 

yoii  would  publish  a  proclamation  that  no  modest 
person  who  has  a  value  for  her  countenance,  and 
consequently  would  not  be  put  out  of  it,  presume  to 
travel  after  such  a  day  without  one  of  them  in  their 
pockets.  I  fancy  a  smart  Spectator  upon  this  sub- 
ject would  serve  for  such  a  padlock  ;  and  that  public 
notice  may  be  given  in  your  paper  where  they  may 
be  had,  with  directions,  price  twopence  ;  and  that 
part  of  the  directions  may  be,  when  any  person  pre- 
sumes to  be  guilty  of  the  above-mentioned  crime, 
the  party  aggrieved  may  produce  it  to  his  face,  with 
a  request  to  read  it  to  the  company.  He  must  be 
very  much  hardened  that  could  outface  that  re- 
buke ;  and  his  further  punishment  I  leave  you  to 
prescribe. 

"  Your  huinl)l('  servant, 
T  "  Penance  Cruel." 


No.  534.     WEDNESDAY,  NOVEMBER  12,  1712. 


Rams  enim  ftrmk  sensus  communis  in  ilia 

Forlund. —  juv.  sat.  viii.  73. 

— We  seldom  find 
Much  sense  with  an  exalted  fortune  join'd.     stepney. 

"  MR.   SPECTATOR, 

"  T  AM  a  young  woman  of  nineteen,  the  only 
daughter  of  very  wealthy  parents,  and  have  my 
whole  life  been  used  with  a  tenderness  which  did 
me  no  great  service  in  my  education.     1  have  per- 


NO.   534.  SPECTATOR.  325 

haps  an  uncommon  desire  for  knowledge  of  what  is 
suitable  to  my  sex  and  quality ;  but,  as  far  as  I  can 
remembei',  the  whole  dispute  about  me  has  been, 
whether  such  a  thing  was  proper  for  the  child  to  do, 
or  not  ?  or  whether  such  or  such  a  food  was  the 
more  wholesome  for  the  young  lady  to  eat  ?  This 
was  ill  for  my  shape,  that  for  my  complexion,  and 
the  other  for  my  eyes.  I  am  not  extravagant,  when 
I  tell  you  I  do  not  know  that  I  have  trod  upon  the 
very  earth  ever  since  I  was  ten  years  old.  A  coach 
or  chair  I  am  obliged  to  for  all  my  motions  from 
one  place  to  another  ever  since  I  can  remember. 
All  who  had  to  do'  to  instruct  me,  have  ever  been 
bringing  stories  of  the  notable  things  I  have  said, 
and  the  womanly  manner  of  my  behaving  myself 
upon  such  and  such  an  occasion.  This  has  been  my 
state  till  I  came  towards  years  of  womanhood  ;  and 
ever  since  I  grew  towards  the  age  of  fifteen  I  have 
been  abused  after  another  manner.  Now,  forsooth, 
I  am  so  killing,  no  one  can  safely  speak  to  me.  Our 
house  is  frequented  by  men  of  sense,  and  I  love  to 
ask  questions  when  I  fall  into  such  convei'sation  ; 
but  I  am  cut  short  with  something  or  other  about 
my  bright  eyes.  There  is.  Sir,  a  language  particu- 
lar for  talking  to  women  in  ;  and  none  but  those  of 
the  very  first  good-breeding,  who  are  very  few,  and 
seldom  come  into  my  way,  can  speak  to  us  without 
regard  to  our  sex.  Among  the  generality  of  those 
they  call  gentlemen,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  speak 
upon  any  subject  whatsoever,  without  provoking 
somebody  to  say,  '  Oh !  to  be  sure,  fine  Mrs.  Such- 
a-one  must  be  very  particularly  acquainted  with  all 
that;  all  the  world  would  contribute  to  her  enter- 
tainment and  information.'  Thus,  Sir,  I  am  so 
handsome  that  I  murder  all  who  approach  me  ;  so 
wise  that  I  want  no  new  notices  ;  and  so  well-bred 


826  SPECTATOR.  NO.   534. 

tliat  I  cam  treated  by  all  that  know  uie  like  a  fool, 
for  no  one  will  answer  as  if  I  were  their  friend  or 
companion.  Pray,  Sir,  be  pleased  to  take  the  part 
of  us  beauties  and  fortunes  into  your  consideration, 
and  do  not  let  us  be  thus  flattered  out  of  our  senses. 
I  have  got  a  hussy  of  a  maid  who  is  most  craftily 
given  to  tiiis  ill  quality.  I  was  at  first  diverted 
with  a  certain  absurdity  the  creature  was  guilty  of 
in  every  thing  she  said.  She  is  a  country  girl ;  and 
in  the  dialect  of  the  shire  she  was  born  in,  would 
tell  me  that  everybody  reckoned  her  lady  had  the 
purest  red  and  white  in  the  world ;  then  she  would 
tell  me  I  was  the  most  like  one  Sisly  Dobson  in 
their  town,  who  made  the  miller  make  away  with 
himself,  and  walk  afterwards  in  the  cornfield  where 
they  used  to  meet.  With  all  this,  this  cunning  hussy 
can  lay  lettei's  in  my  way,  and  put  a  billet  in  my 
gloves,  and  then  stand  in  it  she  knows  nothing  of  it. 
I  do  not  know,  from  my  birth  to  this  day,  that  I 
have  been  ever  treated  by  any  one  as  I  ought ;  and 
if  it  were  not  for  a  few  books,  which  I  delight  in, 
I  should  be  at  this  hour  a  novice  to  all  common 
sense.  Would  it  not  be  worth  your  while  to  lay 
down  rules  for  behaviour  in  this  case,  and  tell  people, 
that  we  fair  ones  expect  honest  plain  answers  as  well 
as  other  people  ?  Why  must  I,  good  Sir,  because 
I  have  a  good  air,  a  fine  complexion,  and  am  in  the 
bloom  of  my  years,  be  misled  in  all  my  actions  ;  and 
have  the  notions  of  good  and  ill  confounded  in  my 
mind,  for  no  other  offence,  but  because  I  have  the 
advantages  of  beauty  and  fortune  ?  Indeed,  Sir,  what 
with  the  silly  homage  which  is  paid  us  by  the  sort 
of  people  I  have  above  spoken  of,  and  the  utter 
negligence  which  others  have  for  us,  the  conversa- 
tion of  us  young  women  of  condition  is  no  other 
than  what  must  expose  us  to  ignorance  and  vanity. 


NO.    534.  SPECTATOR. 


327 


if  not  vice.     All  this  is  humbly  submitted   to  your 
Spectatorial  wisdom,  by 

"  Sir, 
"  Your  humble  servant, 

"Sharlot  Wealthy." 

"mr.  spectator, 

"Pray,  Sir,  it  will  serve  to  fill  up  a  paper  if  you 
put  in  this ;  which  is  only  to  ask,  whether  that  copy 
of  verses  which  is  a  paraphrase  of  Isaiah,  in  one  of 
your  speculations,  is  not  written  by  Mr.  Pope  ?  Then 
you  get  on  another  line,  by  putting  in,  with  proper 
distances,  as  at  the  end  of  a  letter, 
"  I  am,  Sir, 

"  Your  humble  servant, 

"  Abraham  Dapperwit." 
"  Will's  Coffee-house." 

MR.    dapperwit, 

I  am  glad  to  get  another  line  forward,  by  saying 
that  excellent  piece  is  Mr.  Pope's ;  and  so,  with 
proper  distances, 

I  am.  Sir, 

Your  humble  sei'vant, 

S R. 

"MR.    SPECTATOR, 

"  I  was  a  wealthy  grocer  in  the  city,  and  as  for- 
tunate as  diligent ;  but  I  was  a  single  man,  and  you 
know  there  are  women.  One  in  particular  came  to 
ray  shop,  who  I  wished  might,  but  was  afraid  never 
would,  make  a  grocer's  wife.  I  thought,  however, 
to  take  an  effectual  way  of  courting,  and  sold  to  her 
at  less  price  than  I  bought,  that  I  might  buy  at  less 
price  than  I  sold.  She,  you  may  be  sure,  often 
came  and  helped  me  to  many  customers  at  the  same 
rate,  fancying   I   was   obliged  to   her.     You  must 


328  Sl'KCTATOH.  NO.   534. 

needs  think  this  was  a  good  living  trade,  and  ray 
riches  must  be  vastly  improved.  In  fine,  I  was 
nigh  being  declared  bankrupt,  when  I  declared  my- 
self her  lover,  and  she  herself  married.  I  was  just 
in  a  condition  to  support  myself,  and  am  now  in 
hopes  of  growing  rich  by  losing  my  customers. 
"  Yours, 

"Jeremy  Comfit." 

"  mr.  spectator, 

"  I  am  in  the  condition  of  the  idol  you  was  once 
pleased  to  mention,  and  bar-keeper  of  a  coffee-house. 
I  believe  it  is  needless  to  tell  you  the  opi)ortunities 
I  must  give,  and  the  im[)ortunities  I  suffer.  But 
there  is  one  gentleman  wlio  besieges  me  as  close  as 
the  French  did  Bouchain.  His  gravity  makes  him 
work  cautious,  and  his  regular  approaches  denote  a 
good  engineer.  You  need  not  doubt  of  his  oratory, 
as  he  is  a  lawyer ;  and  especially  since  he  has  had 
so  little  use  of  it  at  Westminster,  he  may  spare  the 
more  for  me. 

"  What  then  can  weak  woman  do  ?  I  am  willing 
to  surrender,  but  he  would  have  it  at  discretion, 
and  I  with  discretion.  In  the  mean  time,  whilst  we 
parley,  our  several  interests  are  neglected.  As  his 
siege  grows  stronger,  my  tea  grows  weaker ;  and 
while  he  pleads  at  my  bar,  none  come  to  him  for 
couns.el  hut  t7i  fonnd  pauperis.  Dear  Mr.  Specta- 
tor, advise  him  not  to  insist  upon  hard  articles,  nor 
by  his  irregular  desires  contradict  the  well-meaning 
lines  of  his  countenance.  If  we  were  agreed,  we 
might  settle  to  something,  as  soon  as  we  could  de- 
termine where  we  should  get  most,  by  the  law,  at 
the  coffee-house,  or  at  Westminster. 

"  Your  humble  servant, 

"  Ldcinda  Parley." 


NO.  535.  SPECTATOR.  329 

A  MINUTE  FROM  MR.  JOHN  SLY. 

"  The  world  is  pretty  regular  for  about  forty  rod 
east  and.  ten  west  of  the  observatorj^  of  the  said  Mr. 
Sly ;  but  he  is  credibly  informed,  that  when  they 
are  got  beyond  the  pass  into  the  Strand,  or  those 
who  move  city-ward  are  got  within  Temple-bar,  they 
are  just  as  they  were  before.  It  is  therefore  humbly 
proposed,  that  moving  sentries  may  be  appointed 
all  the  busy  hours  of  the  day  between  the  Exchange 
and  Westminster,  and  report  what  passes  to  your 
honour,  or  your  subordinate  officers,  from  time  to 
time." 

Ordered, 

That  ]VIr.  Sly  name  the  said  officers,  provided  he 
will  answer  for  their  principles  and  morals. 
T 


No.  535.    THURSDAY,  NOVEMBER  13,  1712. 


Spem  hngam  reseces. —  hoe.  car.  i.  11.  7. 

Cut  short  vain  hope. 

My  four  hundred  and  seventy-first  speculation 
turned  upon  the  subject  of  hope  in  general.  I  de- 
sign this  paper  as  a  speculation  upon  that  vain  and 
foolish  hope,  which  is  misemployed  on  temporal 
objects,  and  produces  many  sorrows  and  cahimities 
in  human  life. 

It  is  a  precept  several  times  inculcated  by  Horace, 


330  SPECTATOR.  NO.    685. 

that  \vc  should  not  ontertiiiii  a  hope  of  any  thing  in 
lite,  which  lies  at  a  great  distance  from  us.  The 
shortness  and  uncertainty  of  our  time  here  makes 
such  a  kind  of  hope  unreasonable  and  absurd.  The 
grave  lies  unseen  between  us  and  the  object  which 
we  reach  after.  Where  one  man  lives  to  enjoy  the 
good  he  has  in  view,  ten  thousand  are  cut  off  in  the 
pursuit  of  it. 

It  liappens  likewise  unluckily,  that  one  hope  no 
sooner  dies  in  us  but  another  rises  up  in  its  stead. 
TVe  are  apt  to  fancy  that  we  shall  be  happy  and 
satisfied  if  we  possess  ourselves  of  such  and  such 
particular  enjoyments  ;  but  either  by  reason  of  their 
emptiness,  or  the  natural  inquietude  of  the  mind, 
we  have  no  sooner  gained  one  point,  but  we  extend 
our  hopes  to  another.  We  still  find  new  inviting 
scenes  and  landscapes  lying  behind  those  which  at  a 
distance  terminated  our  view. 

The  natural  consequences  of  such  reflections  are 
these  ;  that  we  should  take  care  not  to  let  our  hopes 
run  out  into  too  great  a  length ;  that  we  should  suf- 
ficiently weigh  the  objects  of  our  hope,  whether 
they  be  such  as  we  may  reasonably  expect  from 
them  what  we  propose  in  their  fruition,  and. whether 
they  are  such  as  we  are  pretty  sure  of  attaining,  in 
case  our  life  extend  itself  so  far.  If  we  hope  for 
things  which  are  at  too  great  a  distance  from  us,  it  is 
possible  that  we  may  be  intercepted  by  death  in  our 
progress  towards  them.  If  we  hope  for  things  of 
wliich  we  have  not  thoroughly  considered  the  value 
of,  our  disappointment  will  be  greater  than  our  jjlea- 
sure  in  the  fruition  of  them.  If  we  hope  for  what 
we  are  not  likely  to  possess,  we  act  and  think  in 
vain,  and  make  life  a  greater  dream  and  shadow 
than  it  really  is. 

Many  of  the  miseries  and  misfortunes  of  life  pro- 


NO.   535.  SPECTATOR.  331 

ceed  from  our  want  of  consicJeration,  in  one  or  all 
of  these  particulars.  Tiiey  are  the  rocks  on  which 
the  sanguine  tribe  of  lovers  daily  split,  and  on  which 
the  bankrupt,  the  politician,  the  alchemist,  and  pro- 
jector, are  cast  away  in  every  age.  Men  of  warm 
imaginations  and  towering  thoughts  are  apt  to  over- 
look the  goods  of  fortune  which  are  near  them,  for 
something  that  glitters  in  the  sight  at  a  distance ;  to 
neglect  solid  and  substantial  happiness,  for  what  is 
showy  and  superficial;  and  to  contemn  that  good  Avhich 
lies  within  their  reach,  for  that  which  they  are  not 
capable  of  attaining.  Hope  calculates  its  schemes 
for  a  long  and  durable  life  ;  presses  forward  to  imagi- 
nary points  of  bliss  ;  grasps  at  impossibilities  ;  and 
consequently  very  often  ensnares  men  into  beggary, 
ruin,  and  dishonour. 

What  I  have  here  said  may  serve  as  a  moral  to 
an  Arabian  fable,  which  I  find  translated  into  French 
by  Monsieur  Galland.  The  fable  has  in  it  such  a 
wild  but  natural  simplicity,  that  I  question  not  but 
m}'  reader  will  be  as  much  pleased  with  it  as  I  have 
been,  and  that  he  will  consider  himself,  if  he  reflects 
on  the  sevei-al  amusements  of  hope  which  have 
sometimes  passed  in  his  mind,  as  a  near  relation  to 
the  Persian  glassman. 

'  Alnaschar,'  says  the  fable,  '  was  a  very  idle  fel- 
low, that  never  would  set  his  hand  to  any  business 
during  his  father's  life.  When  his  father  died,  he 
left  him  to  the  value  of  a  hundred  drachmas  in  Per- 
sian money.  Alnaschar,  in  order  to  make  the  best 
of  it,  laid  it  out  in  glasses,  bottles,  and  the  finest 
earthen  ware.  These  he  piled  up  in  a  large  open 
basket,  and,  having  made  choice  of  a  very  little  shop, 
placed  the  basket  at  his  feet ;  and  leaned  his  back 
upon  the  wall,  in  expectation  of  customers.  As  he 
sat  in  this  posture,  with  his  eyes  upon  the  basket,  he 


332  SrECTATOK.  NO.   535. 

fell  into  a  most  amusing  train  of  thought,  and  was 
overheard  by  one  of  his  neighbors,  as  he  talked  to 
himself  in  the  following  manner :  '  This  basket,' 
says  he,  '  cost  me  at  the  wholesale  merchant's  a 
hundred  drachmas,  which  is  all  I  have  in  the  world. 
I  shall  quickly  make  two  hundred  of  it,  by  selling 
it  in  retail.  These  two  hundred  drachmas  will  in  a 
very  little  while  rise  to  four  hundred,  which  of 
course  will  amount  in  time  to  four  thousand.  Four 
thousand  drachmas  cannot  fail  of  making  eight  thou- 
sand. As  soon  as  by  this  means  I  am  master  of  ten 
thousand,  I  will  lay  aside  my  trade  of  a  glassman, 
and  turn  jeweller.  I  shall  then  deal  in  diamonds, 
pearls,  and  all  sorts  of  rich  stones.  When  I  have 
got  together  as  much  wealth  as  I  well  can  desire,  I 
will  make  a  purchase  of  the  finest  house  I  can  find, 
with  lands,  slaves,  eunuchs,  and  horses.  I  shall  then 
begin  to  enjoy  myself  and  make  a  noise  in  the 
world.  I  will  not  however  stop  there,  but  still  con- 
tinue my  traific,  till  I  have  got  together  a  hundred 
thousand  drachmas.  When  I  have  thus  made  my- 
self master  of  a  hundred  thousand  drachmas,  I  shall 
naturally  set  myself  on  the  foot  of  a  prince,  and 
will  demand  the  grand  vizier's  daughter  in  marriage, 
after  having  represented  to  that  minister  the  inform- 
ation which  I  have  received  of  the  beauty,  wit, 
discretion,  and  other  high  qualitiL-s  which  his  daugh- 
ter possesses.  I  will  let  him  know,  at  the  same  time, 
that  it  is  my  intention  to  make  him  a  present  of  a 
thousand  pieces  of  gold  on  our  marriage  night.  As 
soon  as  I  have  married  the  grand  vizier's  daughter, 
I  will  buy  her  ten  black  eunuchs,  the  youngest  anu 
the  best  that  can  be  got  for  money.  I  must  after- 
wards make  my  father-in-law  a  visit,  with  a  great 
train  and  equipage.  And  when  I  am  placed  at  his 
right  haiui,  which  he  will  do  of  course,  if  it  be  only 


NO.    535.  SPECTATOR.  333 

to  honor  his  daughter,  I  will  give  him  the  thousand 
pieces  of  gold  which  I  promised  him  ;  and  after- 
wards, to  his  great  surprise,  will  present  him  with 
another  purse  of  the  same  value,  with  some  short 
speech :  as,  "  Sir,  you  see  I  am  a  man  of  my  word  : 
I  always  give  more  than  I  promise," 

'  When  I  have  brought  the  princess  to  my  house, 
I  shall  take  particular  care  to  breed  in  her  a  due 
respect  for  me  before  I  give  the  reins  to  love  and 
daUiance.  To  this  end,  I  shall  confine  her  to  her 
own  apartment,  make  her  a  short  visit,  and  talk 
but  little  to  her.  Her  women  will  represent  to  me, 
that  she  is  inconsolable  by  reason  of  my  unkindness, 
and  beg  me  with  tears  to  caress  her,  and  let  her  sit 
down  by  me  ;  but  I  shall  still  remain  inexorable, 
and  will  turn  my  back  upon  her  all  the  first  night. 
Her  mother  will  then  come  and  bring  her  daughter 
to  me,  as  I  am  seated  upon  my  sofa.  The  daughter, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes,  will  fling  herself  at  my  feet, 
and  beg  of  me  to  receive  her  into  my  favour.  Then 
will  I,  to  imprint  in  her  a  thorough  veneration  for 
my  person,  draw  up  my  legs  and  spurn  her  from  me 
with  my  foot,  in  such  a  manner  that  she  shall  fall 
down  several  paces  from  the  sofa.' 

Alnaschar  was  entirely  swallowed  up  in  this  chi- 
merical vision,  and  could  not  forbear  acting  with 
his  foot  what  he  had  in  his  thoughts ;  so  that  un- 
luckily striking  his  basket  of  brittle  ware,  which 
was  the  foundation  of  all  his  grandeur,  he  kicked 
his  glasses  to  a  great  distance  from  him  into  the 
street,  and  broke  them  into  ten  thousand  pieces. 

o 


334  SPECTATOR.  NO.    586. 


No.  536.     FRIDAY,  NOVEMBER  14,  1712. 


0  vere  Phrygice,  neque  enim  Phryges  ! — 

VIEG.   -BN.  ix.  617. 

0 !  less  than  -women  in  the  shapes  of  men !      dryden. 


As  I  was  the  other  clay  standing  in  my  bookseller's 
shop,  a  pretty  young  thing  about  eighteen  years  of 
age  stepped  out  of  her  coach,  and,  brushing  by  me, 
beckoned  the  man  of  the  shop  t6  the  further  end  of 
his  counter,  where  she  whispered  something  to  him, 
with  an  attentive  look,  and  at  the  same  time  pre- 
sented him  with  a  letter :  after  which,  pressing  the 
end  of  her  fan  upon  his  hand,  she  delivered  the 
remaining  part  of  her  message,  and  withdrew.  I  ob- 
served, in  the  midst  of  her  discourse,  that  she  flushed 
and  cast  an  eye  ui)on  me  over  her  shoulder,  having 
been  informed  by  my  bookseller  that  I  was  the 
man  of  the  short  face  whom  she  had  so  often  read 
of.  Upon  her  passing  by  me,  the  pretty  blooming 
creature  smiled  in  my  face,  and  dropped  me  a 
courtesy.  She  scarce  gave  me  time  to  return  her 
salute,  before  she  quitted  the  shop  with  an  easy 
scuttle,  and  stepped  again  into  her  coach,  giving  the 
footmen  directions  to  drive  where  they  were  bid. 
Upon  her  departure,  my  bookseller  gave  me  a  letter 
superscribed,  '  To  the  ingenious  Spectator,'  which 
the  young  lady  had  desired  him  to  deliver  into  my 
own  hands,  and  to  tell  me,  that  the  speedy  publica- 
tion of  it  would  not  only  oblige  herself  but  a  whole 
tea-table  of  my  friends.     I  opened  it,  therefore,  with 


NO.    536.  SPECTATOR.  335 

a  resolution  to  publish  it,  whatever  it  would  con- 
tain, and  am  sure  if  any  of  my  male  readers  will  be 
so  severely  critical  as  not  to  like  it,  they  would  have 
been  as  well  pleased  with  it  as  myself,  had  they  seen 
the  face  of  the  pretty  scribe. 

"  MR.   SPECTATOR, 

"  You  are  always  ready  to  receive  any  useful 
hint  or  proposal,  and  such,  I  believe,  you  will  think 
one  that  may  put  you  in  a  way  to  employ  the  most 
idle  part  of  the  kingdom  :  I  mean  that  part  of  man- 
kind who  are  known  by  the  name  of  the  women's 
men,  or  beaux,  &c.  Mr.  Spectator,  you  are  sen- 
sible these  pretty  gentlemen  are  not  made  for  any 
manly  employments,  and  for  want  of  business  are 
often  as  much  in  the  vapours  as  the  ladies.  Now 
what  I  propose  is  this,  that  since  knotting  is  again 
in  fashion,  which  has  been  found  a  very  pi-etty 
amusement,  that  you  will  recommend  it  to  these 
gentlemen  as  something  that  may  make  them  useful 
to  the  ladies  they  admire.  And  since  it  is  not 
inconsistent  with  any  game,  or  other  diversion,  for 
it  may  be  done  in  the  playhouse,  in  their  coaches, 
at  the  tea-table,  and  in  short,  in  all  places  where  they 
come  for  the  sake  of  the  ladies,  except  at  church, 
(be  pleased  to  forbid  it  there,  to  prevent  mistakes,)  it 
will  be  easily  complied  with.  It  is,  besides,  an  em- 
ployment that  allows,  as  we  see  by  the  fair  sex,  of 
many  graces,  which  Avill  make  the  beaux  more  rea- 
dily come  into  it  ;  it  shows  a  white  hand  and  a 
diamond  ring  to  great  advantage  ;  it  leaves  the  eyes 
at  full  liberty  to  be  employed  as  before,  as  also 
the  thoughts  and  the  tongue.  In  short,  it  seems  in 
every  respect  so  proper,  that  it  is  needless  to  urge 
it  further,  by  speaking  of  the  satisfaction  these  male 
knotters  will  tind,  when  they  see  their  work  mixed 


336  SPECTATOR.  NO.  536. 

up  ill  a  fringe,  and  worn  by  the  fair  lady  for  wlioin 
and  with  whom  it  was  done.  Truly,  Mr.  Spectator, 
I  cannot  but  be  pleased  I  have  hit  upon  something 
that  these  gentlemen  are  capable  of;  for  it  is  sad 
so  considerable  a  part  of  the  kingdom,  I  mean  for 
numbers,  should  be  of  no  manner  of  use.  I  shall 
not  trouble  you  further  at  this  time,  but  only  to  say, 
that  I  am  always  your  reader,  and  generally  your 
admirer,  "  C.  B. 

"  P.  S.  The  sooner  these  fine  gentlemen  are  set  to 
work  the  better  ;  there  being  at  this  time  several 
iSne  fringes,  that  stay  only  for  more  hands." 
"  London,  November,  1712." 

I  shall  in  the  next  place  present  my  reader  with 
the  description  of  a  set  of  men  who  are  common 
enough  in  the  world,  though  I  do  not  remember  that 
I  have  yet  taken  notice  of  thera,  as  they  are  drawn 
in  the  following  letter. 


"  MR.    SPECTATOR, 

"  Since  you  have  lately,  to  so  good  purpose,  en- 
larged upon  conjugal  love,  it  is  to  be  hoped  you 
will  discourage  every  practice  that  rather  proceeds 
from  a  regard  to  interest  than  to  happiness.  Now 
you  cannot  but  observe,  that  most  of  our  fine  young 
ladies  readily  fall  in  with  the  direction  of  the  graver 
sort,  to  retain  in  their  service  by  some  small  en- 
couragement as  great  a  number  as  they  can  of  su- 
pernumerary and  insignificant  fellows,  which  they 
use  like  whifilers,  and  commonly  call  '  shoeing-horns.' 
These  are  never  designed  to  know  the  length  of  the 
foot,  but  only,  when  a  good  offer  comes,  to  whet 
and  spur  him  up  to  the  point.     Nay,  it  is  the  opinion 


NO.    536.  SPECTATOR.  337 

of  that  great  lady,  Madam  Matchwell,  that  it  is  ab- 
solutely convenient  for  every  prudent  family  to  have 
several  of  these  implements  about  the  house  to  clap 
on  as  occasion  serves  ;  and  that  every  spark  ought 
to  produce  a  certificate  of  his  being  a  shoeing-horn 
before  he  be  admitted  as  a  shoe.  A  certain  lady  whom 
I  could  name,  if  it  was  necessary,  has  at  present 
more  shoeiug-horns  of  all  sizes,  countries,  and  colours, 
in  her  service,  than  ever  she  had  new  shoes  in  her 
life.  I  have  known  a  woman  make  use  of  a  shoeing- 
horn  for  several  years,  and,  finding  him  unsuccess- 
iull  in  that  function,  convert  him  at  length  into  a 
shoe.  I  am  mistaken  if  your  friend,  Mr.  William 
Honeycomb,  was  not  a  cast  shoeing-horn  before  his 
late  marriage.  As  for  myself,  I  must  frankly  de- 
clai'e  to  you,  that  I  have  been  an  errant  shoeing-horn 
for  above  these  twenty  years.  I  served  my  first 
mistress  in  that  capacity  above  five  of  the  number, 
before  she  was  shod.  I  confess,  though  she  had 
man}'  who  made  their  applications  to  her,  I  always 
thought  myself  the  best  shoe  in  her  shop ;  and  it 
was  not  till  a  month  before  her  marriage  that  I 
discovered  what  I  was.  This  had  like  to  have  broke 
my  heart,  and  raised  such  suspicions  in  me,  that  I  told 
the  next  I  made  love  to,  upon  receiving  some  unkind 
usage  from  her,  that  I  began  to  .look  upon  myself 
as  no  more  than  her  shoeing-horn.  Upon  which, 
my  dear,  who  was  a  coquette  in  her  nature,  told 
me  I  was  hypochondriacal,  and  that  I  might  as  well 
look  upon  myself  to  be  an  egg,  or  a  pipkin.  But 
in  a  very  short  time  after  she  gave  me  to  know  that 
I  was  not  mistaken  in  myself.  It  would  be  tedious 
to  recount  to  you  the  life  of  an  unfortunate  shoeing- 
liorn,  or  I  might  entertain  you  with  a  very  long 
and  melancholy  relation  of  my  sufferings.  Upon 
the  whole,  I  think.  Sir,  it  would  very  well  becooio 
VOL.  XI.  22 


338  SPECTATOR.  NO.    637. 

a  man  in  your  post,  to  determine  in  what  cases  a 
woman  may  be  allowed  with  honour  to  make  use 
of  a  shoein;x-horn,  as  also  to  declare,  whether  a  maid 
on  this  side  live-aud-twenty,  or  a  widow  who  has 
not  been  three  years  in  that  state,  may  be  granted 
such  a  privilege,  with  other  difficulties  which  will 
naturally  occur  to  you  upon  that  subject. 
"  I  am,  Sir, 
'•  with  the  most  profound  veneration, 

"  Yours,"  &c. 


No.  537.     SATURDAY,   NOVEMBER  15,  1712. 


Tot)  fiEV  yap  yivoc  eafiiv.  arat. 

For  we  are  his  offspring.  acts  xvii.  28. 

"  TO    THE    SPECTATOR. 
"  SIR, 

"  It  has  been  usual  to  remind  persons  of  rank,  on 
great  occasions  in  life,  of  their  race  and  quality,  and 
to  what  expectations  they  were  born  ;  that,  by  con- 
sidering what  is  worthy  of  them,  they  may  be  with- 
drawn from  mean  pursuits,  and  encouraged  to  laud- 
able undertakings.  This  is  turning  nobility  into 
a  principle  of  virtue,  and  making  it  productive  of 
merit,  as  it  is  understood  to  have  been  originally  a 
reward  of  it. 

"  It  is  for  the  like  reason,  I  imagine,  that  you  have 
in  some  of  your  speculations  asserted  to  your  readers 
tiie  dignity  of  human  nature.     But  you  cannot  be 


NO.   537.  SPECTATOR.  339 

insensible  that  this  is  a  controverted  doctrine  ;  there 
are  authors  who  consider  human  nature  in  a  very 
different  view,  and  books  of  maxims  have  been 
written  to  show  the  falsity  of  all  human  virtues.* 
The  reflections  which  are  made  on  this  subject 
usually  take  some  tincture  from  the  tempers  and 
characters  of  those  that  make  them.  Politicians 
can  resolve  the  most  shining  actions  among  men  into 
artifice  and  design  ;  others,  who  are  soured  by  dis- 
content, repulses,  or  ill-usage,  are  apt  to  mistake 
their  spleen  for  philosophy  ;  men  of  profligate  lives, 
and  such  as  find  themselves  incapable  of  rising  to 
any  distinction  among  their  fellow-creatures,  are  for 
pulling  down  all  appearances  of  merit  which  seem 
to  upbraid  them  ;  and  satirists  describe  nothing  but 
deformity.  From  all  these  hands  we  have  such 
draughts  of  mankind,  as  are  represented  in  those 
burlesque  pictures  which  the  Italians  call  carica- 
turas ;  where  the  art  consists  in  preserving,  amidst 
distorted  proportions  and  aggravated  features,  some 
distinguishing  likeness  of  the  person,  but  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  transform  the  most  agreeable  beauty 
into  the  most  odious  monster. 

"  It  is  very  disingenuous  to  level  the  best  of  man- 
kind with  the  worst,  and  for  the  faults  of  particulars 
to  degrade  the  whole  species.  Such  methods  tend 
not  only  to  remove  a  man's  good  opinion  of  others, 
but  to  destroy  that  reverence  for  himself,  which 
is  a  great  guard  of  innocence,  and  a  spring  of 
virtue. 

"  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  there  are  surprising  mix- 
tures of  beauty  and  deformity,  of  wisdom  and  folly, 

*  An  allusion  to  the  following  book,  Reflexions  et  Maximes 
Morales  de  M.  le  Due  de  la  Rocliefoucault. — Mad.  L'Enclos  says 
of  liim,  that  he  had  no  more  belief  in  virtues  than  he  had  in 
ghosts. 


340  STKCTATOK.  NO.    637. 

virtue  and  vice,  in  the  human  make :  such  a  dis- 
parity is  found  among  numbers  of  the  same  kind  ; 
and  every  individual  in  some  instances,  or  at  some 
times,  is  so  unequal  to  himself,  that  man  seems  to 
be  the  most  wavering  and  inconsistent  being  in  the 
whole  creation.  So  that  the  question  in  morality 
concerning  the  dignity  of  our  nature  may  at  first 
sigiit  appear  like  some  dirticult  questions  in  natural 
philosophy,  in  which  the  arguments  on  both  sides 
seem  to  be  of  equal  strength.  But,  as  I  began  with 
considering  this  point  as  it  relates  to  action,  I  shall 
here  borrow  an  admirable  reflection  from  Monsieur 
Pascal,  which  I  think  sets  it  in  its  proper  light. 

'  It  is  of  dangerous  consequence,'  says  he,  '  to 
represent  to  man  how  near  he  is  to  the  level  of 
beasts,  without  showing  him  at  the  same  time  his 
greatness.  It  is  likewise  dangerous  to  let  him  see 
his  greatness  without  his  meanness.  It  is  more 
dangei'ous  yet  to  leave  him  ignorant  of  either;  but 
verj'  beneficial  that  he  should  be  made  sensible  of 
both.'  Whatever  imperfections  we  may  have  in 
our  nature,  it  is  the  business  of  religion  and  virtue 
to  rectify  them,  as  far  as  is  consistent  with  oui 
present  state.  In  the  mean  time,  it  is  no  small  en- 
couragement to  generous  minds  to  consider,  that  we 
shall  put  them  all  off  witii  our  mortality.  That 
sublime  manner  of  salutation  with  which  the  Jews 
approach  tlieir  kings, 

'  0  king,  live  forever!' 

may  be  addressed  to  the  lowest  and  most  despised 
moi-tal  among  us,  under  all  the  infirmities  and  dis- 
tresses with  which  we  see  him  surrounded.  And 
whoever  believes  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  will 
not  need  a  better  argument  for  the  dignity  of  his 


NO.    537.  SPECTATOR;  341 

nature,  nor  a  stronger  incitement  to  actions  suitable 
to  it. 

"  I  am  naturally  led  by  this  reflection  to  a  subject 
I  have  already  touched  upon  in  a  former  letter,  and 
cannot  without  pleasure  call  to  mind  the  thoughts  of 
Cicero  to  this  purpose,  in  the  close  of  his  book  con- 
cerning old  age.  Every  one  who  is  acquainted  with 
his  writings  will  remember  that  the  elder  Cato  is  in- 
troduced in  that  discourse  as  the  speaker,  and  Scipio 
and  Lgelius  as  his  auditors.  This  venerable  person 
is  represented  looking  forward  as  it  were  from  the 
verge  of  extreme  old  age  into  a  future  state,  and 
rising  into  a  contemplation  on  the  unperishable  part 
of  his  nature,  and  its  existence  after  death.  I  shall 
collect  part  of  his  discourse.  And  as  you  have 
formerly  offered  some  arguments  for  the  soul's  im- 
mortality, agreeable  both  to  reason  and  the  Christ- 
ian doctrine,  I  believe  your  readers  will  not  be  dis- 
pleased to  see  how  the  same  great  truth  shines  in 
the  pomp  of  Roman  eloquence. 

'This,'  says  Cato,  'is  my  firm  persuasion,  that 
since  the  human  soul  exerts  itself  with  so  great  acti- 
vity ;  since  it  has  such  a  remembrance  of  the  past, 
such  a  concern  for  the  future ;  since  it  is  enriched 
with  so  many  arts,  sciences,  and  discoveries ;  it  is 
impossible  but  the  Being  which  contains  all  these 
must  be  immortal.' 

"  The  elder  Cyrus,  just  before  his  death,  is  repre- 
sented by  Xenophon  speaking  after  this  manner : 
'  Think  not,  my  dearest  children,  that  when  I  depart 
from  you  I  shall  be  no  more  ;  but  remember,  that 
my  soul,  even  while  I  lived  among  you,  was  invisi- 
ble to  you ;  yet  by  my  actions  you  were  sensible  it 
existed  in  this  body.  Beheve  it  therefore  existing 
still,  though  it  be  still  unseen.  How  quickly  would 
the  honors  of  illustrious  men  perish  after  death,  if 


312  SPECTATOR.  NO.    587. 

their  souls  performed  nothing  to  preserve  their  fame  ! 
For  my  own  part,  I  never  eouhl  think  that  the  soul 
while  in  a  mortal  body  lives,  but  when  departed  out 
of  it  dies  ;  or  that  its  consciousness  is  lost  when  it  is 
discharged  out  of  an  unconscious  habitation.  But 
when  it  is  freed  from  all  corporeal  alliance,  then  it 
truly  exists.  Further,  since  the  human  frame  is 
broken  by  deaths  tell  us  what  becomes  of  its  parts  'i 
It  is  visible  whither  the  materials  of  other  beings 
are  translated ;  namely,  to  the  source  from  whence 
they  had  their  birth.  The  soul  alone,  neither  pre- 
sent nor  departed,  is  the  object  of  our  eyes.' 

"  Thus  Cyrus.  But  to  proceed  :  '  No  one  shall 
persuade  me,  Scipio,  that  your  worthy  father,  or 
your  grandfathers  Paulus  and  Africanus,  or  Afri- 
canushis  father  or  uncle,  or  many  other  excellent 
men  whom  I  need  not  name,  performed  so  many 
actions  to  be  remembered  by  posterity,  without  being 
sensible  that  futurity  was  their  right.  And,  if  J 
may  be  allowed  an  old  man's  privilege  to  speak  of 
myself,  do  you  think  1  would  have  endured  the 
iiitigue  of  so  many  wearisome  days  and  nights,  both 
at  home  and  abroad,  if  I  imagined  that  the  same 
boundary  which  is  set  to  my  life  must  terminate  my 
glory  ?  Were  it  not  more  desirable  to  have  worn 
out  my  days  in  ease  and  tranquillity,  free  from  labor, 
and  without  emulation  ?  But,  I  know  not  how,  my 
soul  has  always  raised  itself,  and  looked  forward  on 
futurity,  in  this  view  and  expectation,  that  when  it 
shall  depart  out  of  life  it  shall  then  live  fore\er; 
and  if  this  were  not  true,  that  the  mind  is  immortal, 
the  souls  of  the  most  worthy  would  not  above  all 
others  have  the  sti'ongest  impulse  to  glory. 

"  What  besides  this  is  the  cause  tliat  the  wisest 
men  die  with  tlie  greatest  equanimity,  the  ignorant 
with  the  t'reatest  concern  ?     Does  it  not  seem  that 


NO.    537,  SPECTATOR.  343 

those  minds  which  have  the  most  extensive  views 
foresee  they  are  removing  to  a  happier  condition, 
which  those  of  a  narrower  sight  do  not  perceive  ? 
I,  for  my  part,  am  transported  with  the  hope  of  see- 
ing your  ancestors,  whom  I  have  honored  and  loved  ; 
and  am  earnestly  desirous  of  meeting  not  only  those 
excellent  persons  whom  I  have  known,  but  those  too 
of  whom  I  have .  heard  and  read,  and  of  whom  I 
myself  have  written ;  nor  would  I  be  detained  from 
so  pleasing  a  journey.  O  happy  day,  when  I  shall 
escape  from  this  crowd,  this  heap  of  pollution,  and 
be  admitted  to  that  divine  assembly  of  exalted  spirits  ! 
When  I  shall  go  not  only  to  those  great  persons  I 
have  named,  but  to  my  Cato,  my  son,  than  whom  a 
better  man  was  never  born,  and  whose  funeral  rites 
I  myself  performed,  whereas  he  ought  rather  to 
have  attended  mine.  Yet  has  not  his  soul  deserted 
me,  but,  seeming  to  cast  back  a  look  on  me,  is  gone 
before  to  those  habitations  to  which  it  was  sensible 
I  should  follow  him.  And  though  I  might  appear  to 
have  borne  my  loss  with  courage,  I  was  not  unaffect- 
ed with  it ;  but  I  comforted  myself  in  the  assurance, 
that  it  would  not  be  long  before  we  should  meet  again 
and  be  divorced  no  more.' 

"  I  am.  Sir,"  &c. 


344  SPECTATOR.  XO.    688. 


No.  538.    MONDAY,  NOVEMBER  17,  1712. 


—  Ultra 
Legem  lendere  opus. —  hor.  sat.  ii.  1.  1. 

To  launch  beyond  all  bounds. 

Surprise  is  so  much  the  life  of  stories,  that  every 
one  aims  at  it  who  endeavours  to  please  hy  telling 
them.  Smooth  delivery,  an  elegant  choice  of  words, 
and  a  sweet  arrangement,  are  all  beautifying  graces, 
but  not  the  particulars  in  this  point  of  conversation 
which  either  long  command  the  attention,  or  strike 
with  the  violence  of  a  sudden  passion,  or  occasion 
the  burst  of  laughter  which  accompanies  humour.  I 
have  sometimes  fancied  that  the  mind  is  in  this  case 
like  a  traveller  who  sees  a  tine  seat  in  haste  ;  he 
acknowledges  the  delightfulness  of  a  walk  set  with 
regularity,  but  would  be  uneasy  if  he  were  obliged 
to  pace  it  over,  when  the  tlrst  view  had  let  him  into 
all  its  beauties  from  one  end  to  the  other. 

However,  a  knowledge  of  the  success  which  stories 
will  have  when  they  are  attended  with  a  turn  of 
surprise,  as  it  has  happily  made  the  charactei's  of 
some,  so  has  it  also  been  the  ruin  of  the  cliaracters 
of  others.  There  is  a  set  of  men  who  outrage  truth, 
instead  of  affecting  us  with  a  manner  in  telling  it ; 
who  overleap  the  line  of  probability,  that  they  may 
be  seen  to  move  out  of  the  common  road ;  and  en- 
deavour only  to  make  their  hearers  stare  by  imposing 
upon  them  with  a  kind  of  nonsense  against  the 
philosophy  of  nature,   or  such  a  heap  of  wonders 


NO.  538.  SPECTATOE.  345 

told  upon  their  own  knowledge,  as  it  is  not  likely 
one  man  should  ever  have  met  with. 

I  have  been  led  to  this  observation  by  a  company 
into  which  I  fell  accidentally.  The  subject  of  an- 
tipathies was  a  proper  field  wherein  such  false  sur- 
prises might  expatiate,  and  there  were  those  present 
who  appeared  very  fond  to  show  it  in  its  full  extent 
of  traditional  history.  Some  of  them,  in  a  leai'ned 
manner,  offered  to  our  consideration  the  miraculous 
powers  which  the  effluviums  of  cheese  have  over 
bodies  whose  pores  are  disposed  to  receive  them  in 
a  noxious  manner;  others  gave  an  account  of  such 
who  could  indeed  bear  the  sight  of  cheese,  but  not 
the  taste  ;  for  which  they  brought  a  reason  from  the 
milk  of  their  nurses.  Others  again  discoursed,  with- 
out endeavouring  at  reasons,  concerning  an  uncon-  - 
quei-able  aversion  which  some  stomachs  have  against 
a  joint  of  meat  when  it  is  whole,  and  the  eager  inclin- 
ation they  have  for  it  when,  by  its  being  cut  up,  the 
shape  which  had  affected  them  is  altered.  From 
hence  tfiey  passed  to  eels,  then  to  parsnips,  and  so 
from  one  aversion  to  another,  till  we  had  worked  up 
ourselves  to  such  a  pitch  of  complaisance,  that  when 
the  dinner  was  to  come  in  we  inquired  the  name  of 
every  dish,  and  hoped  it  would  be  no  offence  to  any 
in  company,  before  it  was  admitted.  When  we  had 
sate  down,  this  civility  amongst  us  turned  the  dis- 
course from  eatables  to  other  sorts  of  aversions  ; 
and  the  eternal  cat,  which  plagues  every  conversa- 
tion of  this  nature,  began  then  to  engross  the  subject. 
One  had  sweated  at  the  sight  of  it,  another  had 
smelled  it  out  as  it  lay  concealed  in  a  very  distant 
cupboard  ;  and  he  who  crowned  the  whole  set  of  these 
stories,  reckoned  up  the  number  of  times  in  which 
it  had  occasioned  him  to  swoon  away.  '  At  last,' 
says  he,  '  that  you  may  all  be  satisfied  of  my  invin- 


346  SPKCTATOR.  NO.    538. 

cible  aversion  to  a  cat,  T-  shall  give  an  unanswerable 
instance.  As  I  was  going  tlirougli  a  street  of  Lon- 
don, wiiere  I  never  had  been  till  then,  I  felt  a  general 
damp  and  faintness  all  over  nie,  which  I  could  not 
lell  how  to  account  for,  till  I  chanced  to  cast  ray 
eyes  upwards,  and  found  tliat  I  was  passing  under  a 
sign-post  on  which  the  picture  of  a  cat  was  hung.' 

The  extravagance  of  this  turn  in  the  way  of  sur- 
prise gave  a  stop  to  the  talk  we  had  been  carrying 
on.  Some  were  silent  because  they  doubted,  and 
others  because  they  were  conquered  in  their  own 
way ;  so  that  the  gentleman  had  an  opportunity  to 
press  the  belief  of  it  upon  us,  and  let  us  see  that  he 
was  rather  exposing  himself  than  ridiculing  others. 

I  must  freely  own  that  I  did  not  all  this  while 
disbelieve  every  thing  that  was  said ;  but  yet  I 
thought  some  in  the  company  had  been  endeavour- 
ing who  should  pitch  the  bar  furthest ;  that  it  had, 
for  some  time,  been  a  measuring  cjist,  and  at  last 
my  friend  of  the  cat  and  sign-post  had  tlirown  be- 
yond tliera  all. 

1  then  considered  the  manner  in  which  this  story 
liad  been  received,  and  tiie  possibility  that  it  might 
have  passed  for  a  jest  upon  others,  if  he  had  not 
laboured  against  himself.  From  hence,  thought  I, 
there  are  two  ways  which  the  well-bred  world  gene- 
rally takes  to  correct  such  a  practice,  wiien  they  do 
not  ihink  fit  to  contradict  it  flatly. 

The  first  of  these  is  a  general  silence,  wliich  I 
would  not  advise  any  one  to  interpret  in  his  own 
behalf.  It  is  often  the  eifect  of  prudence  in  avoiding 
a  quarrel,  when  they  see  another  drive  so  fast  that 
there  is  no  stopping  him  without  being  run  against ; 
and  but  very  seldom  the  etfect  of  weakness  in  be- 
lieving suddenly.  The  generality  of  mankind  are 
not  so  groo-ly  ignorant,  as  some  overbearing  spirits 


NO.  538.  SPECTATOR.  347 

would  persuade  themselves  ;  and  if  the  authority  of 
a  character,  or  a  caution  against  danger,  make  us 
suppress  our  opinions,  yet  neither  of  these  are  of 
force  enough  to  suppress  our  thoughts  of  them.  If 
a  man  who  has  endeavoured  to  amuse  his  company 
with  improbabilities,  could  but  look  into  their  minds, 
he  would  find  that  they  imagine  he  lightly  esteems 
of  their  sense  when  he  thinks  to  impose  upon  them, 
and  that  he  is  less  esteemed  by  them  for  his  attempt 
in  doing  so.  His  endeavour  to  glory  at  their  ex- 
pense becomes  a  ground  of  quarrel,  and  the  scorn 
and  indifference  with  which  they  entertain  it,  begins 
the  immediate  punishment ;  and,  indeed,  if  we  should 
even  go  no  further,  silence,  or  a  negligent  indiffer- 
ence, has  a  deeper  way  of  wounding  than  opposition, 
because  opposition  proceeds  from  an  anger  that  has. 
a  sort  of  generous  sentiment  for  the  adversary  ming- 
ling along  with  it,  while  it  shows  that  there  is  some 
esteem  in  your  mind  for  him  ;  in  short,  that  you  think 
him  worth  while  to  contest  with.  But  silence,  or  a 
negligent  indifference,  proceeds  from  anger,  mixed 
with  a  scorn  that  shows  another  he  is  thought  by  you 
too  contemptible  to  be  regarded. 

The  other  method  which  the  world  has  taken  for 
correcting  this  practice  of  false  surprise,  is  to  over- 
shoot such  talkers  in  their  own  bow,  or  to  raise  the 
story  with  further  degrees  of  impossibility,  and  set 
up  for  a  voucher  to  them  in  such  a  manner  as  must 
let  them  see  they  stand  detected.  Thus,  1  have  heard 
a  discourse  was  once  managed  upon  the  effects  of 
fear.  One  of  the  company  had  given  an  account  how 
it  had  turned  his  friend's  hair  gray  in  a  night,  while 
the  terroi-s  of  a  shipwreck  encompassed  him.  An- 
other, taking  the  hint  from  hence,  began  upon  his  own 
knowledge  to  enlarge  his  instances  of  the  like  nature 
to  such  a  number,  that  it  was  not  probable  he  could 


348  SPKCTATOR.  NO.    538. 

ever  have  met  with  them ;  and  as  he  still  grounded 
these  upon  different  causes  for  the  sake  of  variety, 
it  might  seem  at  last,  from  his  sliare  of  the  conver- 
sation, almost  impossible  that  any  one  who  can  feel 
the  passion  of  fear,  should,  all  his  life,  escape  so  com- 
mon an  effect  of  it.  By  this  time  some  of  the  com- 
pany grew  negligent,  or  desirous  to  contradict  him  ; 
but  one  rebuked  the  rest  with  an  appearance  of"  se- 
verity, and,  with  the  known  old  story  in  his  head, 
assured  them  they  need  not  scruple  to  believe  that 
the  fear  of  any  thing  can  make  a  man's  iiair  gray, 
since  he  knew  one  wliose  periwig  had  suffered  so  by 
it.  Thus  he  stopped  the  talk,  and  made  them  easy. 
Thus  is  the  same  method  taken  to  bring  us  to  shame, 
which  we  fondly  take  to  increase  our  character.  It 
is,  indeed,  a  kind  of  mimicry,  by  which  another  puts 
on  our  air  of  conversation,  to  show  us  to  ourselves. 
He  seems  to  look  ridiculous  before  you,  that  you  may 
remember  how  near  a  resemblance  you  bear  to  him, 
or  that  you  may  know  he  will  not  lie  under  the  im- 
putation of  believing  you.  Then  it  is  that  you  are 
struck  dumb  immediately,  with  a  conscientious  shame 
for  what  you  have  been  saying.  Then  it  is  that 
you  are  inwardly  grieved  at  the  sentiments  which 
you  cannot  but  perceive  others  entertain  concerning 
you.  In  short,  you  are  against  yourself ;  the  laugh 
of  the  company  runs  against  you  ;  the  censuring 
world  is  obliged  to  you  for  that  triumph  which  you 
liave  allowed  them  at  your  own  expense  ;  and  truth, 
wliich  you  have  injured,  has  a  near  way  of  being 
revenged  on  you,  when,  by  the  bare  repetition  of 
your  story,  you  become  a  frequent  diversion  for  the 
l)ublic. 

"MK.   SPECTATOR, 

"  The  other  day,  walking  in  Pancras  churchyard, 


NO.    539.  SPECTATOK.  349 

I  thought  of  your  paper,  wherein  you  mention  epi- 
taphs, and  am  of  opinion  this  has  a  thought  in  it 
worth  being  communicated  to  your  readers. 

Here  innocence  and  beauty  lies,  whose  breath 
Was  snatch' d  by  early,  not  untimely,  death. 
Hence  did  she  go,  just  as  she  did  begin 
Sorrow  to  know,  before  she  knew  to  sin. 
Death,  that  does  sin  and  sorrow  thus  prevent. 
Is  the  next  blessing  to  a  life  well  spent. 

"I  am,  Sir, 

"  Your  servant." 


No.  539.     TUESDAY,  NOVEMBER  18,  1712. 


— Heterocliia  sunto.  qu^  gentjs. 

Be  they  heteroclites. 
"MR.    SPECTATOR, 

"  I  AM  a  young  widow  of  a  good  fortune  and  fa- 
mily, and  just  come  to  town  ;  where  I  find  I  have 
clusters  of  pretty  fellows  come  already  to  visit  me, 
some  dying  with  hopes,  others  with  fears,  though  they 
never  saw  me.  Now,  what  I  would  beg  of  you 
would  be,  to  know  whether  I  may  venture  to  use 
these  pert  fellows  with  the  same  freedom  as  I  did 
my  country  acquaintance.  I  desire  your  leave  to 
use  them  as  to  me  shall  seem  meet,  without  imputa- 
tion of  a  jilt ;  for,  since  I  make  declaration  that  not 
one  of  them  shall  have  me,  1  think  I  ought  to  be 
allowed  the  liberty  of  insulting  those  who  have  the 


350  SPECTATOK.  NO.   539. 

vanity  to  believe  it  is  in  their  power  to  make  me 
break  that  resohitioii.  There  are  scliools  for  learn- 
ing to  use  foils,  frequented  by  those  who  never  de- 
sign to  fight;  and  this  useless  way  of  aiming  at  the 
heart,  without  design  to  wound  it  on  either  side,  is 
tlic  play  with  wliieh  I  am  resolved  to  divert  myself. 
Tiie  man  who  i)retends  to  win,  I  shall  u^'V  like  him 
wlio  romes  into  a  fencing-sehool  to  i)iek  a  quarrel. 
I  hope,  upon  this  foundation,  you  will  give  me  the 
i'rcc  use  of  the  natural  and  artificial  force  of  my  eyes, 
looks,  and  gestures.  As  for  verbal  promises,  I  will 
make  none,  but  sliall  have  no  mercy  on  the  conceited 
interpi'eters  of  glances  and  motions.  I  am  particu- 
larly skilled  in  the  downcast  eye,  and  the  recovery 
into  a  sudden  full  aspect,  and  away  again,  as  you 
may  have  seen  sometimes  practised  by  us  country 
beauties,  beyond  all  that  you  have  observed  in  courts 
and  cities.  Add  to  this,  Sir,  that  I  have  a  ruddy, 
heedless  look,  which  covers  artifice  the  best  of  any- 
thing. Tliough  I  can  dance  very  well,  I  affect  a 
tottering,  untauglit  way  of  walking,  by  which  I  ap- 
pear an  easy  prey  ;  and  never  exert  my  insti-ucted 
charnip,  till  1  find  I  have  engaged  a  pursuer.  Be 
pleased,  Sir,  to  print  this  lettei",  which  will  certainly 
begin  the  chase  of  a  lich  widow.  The  many  fold- 
ings, escapes,  returns,  and  doublings,  which  I  make, 
I  shall,  from  time  to  time,  communicate  to  you,  for 
the  better  instruction  of  all  females,  who  set  up,  like 
me,  for  reducing  the  present  exorbitant  power  and 
insolence  of  man. 

"  1  am,  Sir, 

"  Your  faithful  correspondent, 

"  Relicta  Lovely." 

"  DEAR   MR.    SPECTATOR, 

"  I  depend  upon  your  professed  respect  for  virtuous 


NO.    539.  SPECTATOK.  351 

love,  for  your  immediately  answering  the  design  of 
this  letter ;  which  is  no  other  than  to  lay  before  the 
world  the  severity  of  certain  parents,  who  desire  to 
suspend  the  marriage  of  a  discreet  young  woman  of 
eighteen  three  years  longer,  for  no  other  reason  but 
that  of  her  being  too  young  to  enter  into  that  state. 
As  to  the  consideration  of  riches,  my  circumstances 
are  such,  that  I  cannot  be  suspected  to  make  my 
addresses  to  her  on  such  low  motives  as  avarice  or" 
ambition.  If  ever  innocence,  wit,  and  beauty,  united 
their  utmost  charms,  they  have  in  her.  I  wish  you 
would  expatiate  a  little  on  this  subject,  and  admonish 
her  parents  that  it  may  be  from  the  very  imperfec- 
tion of  human  nature  itself,  and  not  any  personal 
frailty  of  her  or  me,  that  our  inclinations,  baffled  at 
present,  may  alter;  and  while  we  are  arguing  with 
ourselves  to  put  off  the  enjoyment  of  our  present 
passions,  our  affections  may  change  their  objects  in 
the  operation.  It  is  a  very  delicate  subject  to  talk 
upon  ;  but  if  it  were  but  hinted,  I  am  in  hopes  it 
would  give  the  parties  concerned  some  reflection  that 
might  expedite  our  happiness.  There  is  a  possibility, 
and  I  hope  I  may  say  it  without  imputation  of  immo- 
desty to  her  I  love  with  the  highest  honour  ;  I  say 
there  is  a  possibility  this  delay  may  be  as  painful  to 
her  as  it  is  to  me  ;  if  it  be  as  much,  it  must  be  more, 
by  reason  of  the  severe  rules  the  sex  are  under,  in 
being  denied  even  the  relief  of  complaint.  If  you 
oblige  me  in  this,  and  I  succeed,  1  promise  you  a 
place  at  my  wedding,  and  a  treatment  suitable  to  your 
Spectatorial  dignity. 

"  Your  most  humble  servant, 

"Eustace." 

"  SIR, 

"  I  yesterday  heard  a  young  gentleman,  that  looked 


352  SPECTATOR.  NO.    33?. 

as  if  he  was  just  come  to  the  gown*  anil  a  scarf, 
upon  evil  speaking  ;  which  subject,  you  know,  Arch- 
bishop Tillotson  has  so  nobly  iiandled  in  a  sermon 
in  his  folio.  As  soon  as  ever  he  liad  named  his  text, 
and  had  opened  a  little  the  drift  of  his  discourse,  I 
was  in  great  hopes  he  had  been  one  of  Sir  Roger's 
cha|)lains.  I  liave  conceived  so  great  an  idea  of  the 
charming  discourse  above,  that  I  should  have  thought 
one  part  of  my  sabbath  very  well  s|)ent  in  hearing  a 
repetition  of  it.  But,  alas  !  Mr.  Spectator,  this  re- 
verend divine  gave  us  his  Grace's  sermon,  and  yet  I 
do  not  knovv  how  ;  even  I,  that  I  am  sure  have  read 
it  at  least  twenty  times,  could  not  tell  what  to  make 
of  it,  and  was  at  a  loss  sometimes  to  guess  what  the 
man  aimed  at.  He  was  so  just,  indeed,  as  to  give 
us  all  the  heads  and  the  subdivisions  of  the  sermon, 
and  further  I  think  there  was  not  one  beautiful 
thought  in  it  but  what  we  had.  But  then.  Sir,  this 
gentleman  made  so  many  pretty  additions  ;  and  he 
could  never  give  us  a  paragraph  of  the  sermon,  but 
he  introduced  it  with  something  which  methought 
looked  more  like  a  design  to  show  his  own  ingenuity, 
than  to  instruct  the  people.  In  siiort,  lie  added  and 
curtailed  in  such  a  manner,  that  he  vexed  me  ;  inso- 
nmch  that  I  could  not  Ibrbear  tiiinkiug,  what  1  con- 
fess I  ought  not  to  have  thought  of  in  so  iioly  a  place, 
that  this  young  spark  was  as  justly  blamable  as 
Bullock,  or  Fenkethman,  when  they  mend  a  noble 
j)lay  of  Shakspeare,  or  Jonson.  Pray.  Sir,  take  this 
into  your  consideration  ;  and,  if  we  must  be  enter- 
tained with  the  works  of  any  of  those  great  men, 
desire  tliese  gentlemen  to  give  them  us  as  they  find 
them,  that  so,  when  we  read  them  to  our  families  at 

*  Town  in  the  old  folio. 


NO.    540.  SPKCTATOR.  353 

home,  they  may  the  better  remember  that  they  have 
heard  them  at  church. 

"  Sir, 

"  Your  humble  servant." 


No.  540.     WEDNESDAY,  NOVEMBER  19,  1712. 


— Non  deficit  alter.  vibg.  ^en.  vi.  143. 

A  second  is  not  wanting. 
"  MR.   SPECTATOR, 

"  There  is  no  part  of  your  writings  which  I  have 
in  more  esteem  than  your  criticism  upon  Milton. 
It  is  an  honourable  and  candid  endeavour  to  set  the 
works  of  our  noble  writers  in  the  graceful  light 
which  they  deserve.  You  will  lose  much  of  my 
kind  inclination  towards  you,  if  you  do  not  attempt 
the  encomium  of  Spenser  also,  or  at  least  indulge 
my  passion  for  that  charming  author  so  far  as  to 
print  the  loose  hints  I  now  give  you  on  that  subject. 

"  Spensei''s  general  plan  is  the  representation  of 
six  virtues  —  holiness,  temperance,  chastity,  friend- 
ship, justice,  and  courtesy  —  in  six  legends  by  six 
persons.  The  six  personages  are  supposed,  under 
proper  allegories  suitable  to  their  respective  cha- 
racters, to  do  all  that  is  necessary  for  the  full  mani- 
festation of  the  respective  virtues  which  they  are  to 
exert. 

"  These  one  might  undertake  to  show  under  the 
several  heads  are  admirably  drawn ;  no  images  im- 

VOL.  XI.  23 


•^^i  SPECTATOR.  NO.    540. 

proper,  and  most  surprisingly  beauliful.  The  Red- 
cross  Knij]^ht  runs  tlirougli  the  whole  steps  of  the 
Christian  life  ;  Giiyon  does  all  that  temperance  can 
possibly  require  ;  Britomartis,  a  woman,  observes 
the  true  rules  of  unaffected  chastity  ;  Arthegal  is 
in  every  respect  of  life  strictly  and  wisely  just; 
Calidore  is  rightly  courteous. 

'•  In  short,  in  Fairy-land,  where  knights-errant 
have  a  full  scope  to  range,  and  to  do  even  what 
Ariostos  or  Orlandos  could  not  do  in  the  world  with- 
out breaking  into  credibility,  Spenser's  knights  have, 
under  those  six  heads,  given  a  full  and  a  truly  poeti- 
cal system  of  Christian,  public,  and  low  life. 

"  His  legend  of  friendship  is  more  diffuse,  and 
yet  even  there  the  allegory  is  finely  drawn,  only 
the  heads  various ;  one  knight  could  not  there  sup- 
port all  the  parts. 

"  To  do  honour  to  his  country,  Prince  Arthur  is 
an  universal  hero  ;  in  holiness,  temperance,  chastity, 
and  justice,  superexcellent.  For  the  same  reason, 
and  to  compliment  Queen  Elizabeth,  Gloriana,  queen 
of  fairies,  whose  court  was  the  asylum  of  the  op- 
pressed, represents  that  glorious  queen.  At  her 
commands  all  these  knights  set  forth ;  and  only  at 
hers,  the  Redcross  Knight  destroys  the  dragon ; 
Guyon  overturns  the  Bower  of  Bliss  ;  Arthegal,  i.  e. 
Justice,  beats  down  Geryoneo,  i.  e.  Philip  II.  King 
of  Spain,  to  rescue  Beige,  i.  e.  Holland ;  and  he  beats 
the  Grantorto,  same  Philip  in  another  light,  to 
restore  Irena,  ^.  e.  Peace,  to  Europe. 

"  Chastity  being  the  first  female  virtue,  Brito- 
martis is  a  Briton ;  her  part  is  fine,  though  it  re- 
quires ex[»lication.  His  ?tyle  is  very  poetical ;  no 
puns,  atf<  clations  of  wit,  forced  antitheses,  or  any  of 
tliat  low  tribe. 

"  His  old  words  are  all  true  Engli.-h,  and  num- 


NO.    540.  SPECTATOR.  355 

bers  exquisite ;  and  since  of  words  there  is  the 
multa  renascentur,  since  they  are  all  proper,  such  a 
poem  should  not,  any  more  than  Milton's,  consist  all 
of  it  of  common  ordinary  words.  See  instances  of 
descriptions. 

"  Causeless  jealousy  in    Britomartis.      Book  v. 
Canto  VI.  Stan.  xiv.  in  its  restlessness. 

Like  as  a  wayward  child,  whose  sounder  sleep 
Is  broken  with  some  fearful  dream's  affright, 
With  froward  will  doth  set  himself  to  weep, 
Ne  can  be  still'd  for  all  his  nurse's  might, 
But  kicks  and  squalls,  and  shrieks,  for  fell  despite; 
Now  scratching  her,  and  her  loose  locks  misusing. 
Now  seeking  darkness,  and  now  seeking  light, 
Then  craving  suck,  and  then  the  suck  refusing: 
Such  was  this  lady's  fit  in  her  love's  fond  accusing. 

"  Curiosity  occasioned  by  jealousy,  upon  occasion 
of  her  lover's  absence.     Book  v.  Canto  vi.  Stan. 

VUI.  IX. 

There  as  she  looked  long,  at  last  she  spied 
One  coming  towards  her  Tcith  hasty  speed. 
Well  ween'd  she  then,  ere  him  she  plain  descried. 
That  it  was  one  sent  from  her  love  indeed : 
Whereat  her  heart  was  fill'd  with  hope  and  dread, 
Ne  would  she  stay  till  he  in  place  could  come, 
But  ran  to  meet  him  forth  to  know  his  tiding's  somme: 
Even  in  the  door  him  meeting,  she  begun; 
'  And  where  is  he,  thy  lord  ?  and  how  far  hence  ? 
Declare  at  once;  and  hath  he  lost  or  won?' 

"  Care  and  his  house  are  described  thus.     Book 
IV.  Canto  V.  Stan,  xxxii.  xxxiv.  xxxv. 

Not  far  away,  not  meet  for  any  guest. 
They  spy'd  a  little  cottage,  like  some  poor  man's  nest. 


There  entering  in,  they  found  the  good  man's  self, 

Full  busily  unto  his  work  ybent, 

Who  was  so  weel  a  wretched  wearish  elf, 

With  hollow  eyes  and  rawbone  cheeks  far  spent, 


356  SPECTATOK.  NO.    540 


As  if  he  had  in  prison  loiij;  been  pent: 
Full  black  and  griesly  did  his  face  appear, 
Besmear'd  with  smoke  tliat  nigh  his  eyesight  blent, 
With  rugged  beard,  aud  hoary  shaggy  heare, 
The  which  he  never  wont  to  comb,  or  comely  shear. 


Rude  was  his  garment,  and  to  rags  all  rent, 
Ne  better  had  he,  ne  for  better  cared; 
His  blistered  hands  amongst  the  cinders  brent, 
And  fingers  filthy  with  lung  nails  unpared. 
Right  lit  to  rend  the  food  on  which  he  fared: 
His  name  was  Care;  a  blacksmith  by  his  trade, 
That  neither  day  nor  night  from  working  spared. 
But  to  small  purpose  iron  wedges  made : 
These  be  unquiet  thoughts  that  carefull  minds  invade. 

"  Homer's  epithets  were  much  admired  by  anti- 
quity:  see  what  great  justness  and  variety  there  are 
in  these  epithets  of  the  trees  in  the  forest,  where 
the  Redcross  Knight  lost  Truth.  Book  i.  Canto  i. 
Stan.  VIII.  IX. 

The  sailing  pine,  the  cedar  proud  and  tall, 
The  vine-prop  elm,  the  poplar  never  dry. 
The  builder-oak,  sole  king  of  forests  all", 
The  aspine,  good  for  staves,  the  cypress  funeral. 


The  laurel,  meed  of  mighty  conquerors, 
And  poet's  sage ;  the  fir  that  weepeth  stiU, 
The  willow,  worn  of  forlorn  paramours, 
The  yew  obedient  to  the  bender's  will. 
The  birch  for  shafts,  the  sallow  for  the  mill. 
The  myrrhe  sweet,  bleeding  in  the  bitter  wound, 
The  war-like  beech,  the  ash,  for  nothing  ill. 
The  fruitful  olive,  and  the  plantane  round. 
The  carver  holm,  the  maple,  seldom  inward  sound. 

"  I  shall  trouble  you  no  more,  but  desire  you  to 
let  me  conclude  with  these  verses,  though  1  think 
they  have  already  been  quoted  by  you.  They  are 
du'ections  to  young  ladies  oppressed  with  calumny. 
Cauto  VI.  Stan.  vi.  xiv. 


NO.    541.  SPECTATOR.  357 

'  The  best,'  said  he,  'that  I  can  yoti  advise, 
Is  to  avoid  th'  occasion  of  the  ill ; 
For  when  the  cause  whence  evil  doth  ai'ise 
Eemoved  is,  the  effect  surceaseth  still. 
Abstain  from  pleasui-e,  and  restrain  your  will, 
Subdue  desire,  and  bridle  loose  delight. 
Use  scanted  diet,  and  forbear  your  fill. 
Shim  secrecy,  and  talk  in  open  sight; 
So  shall  you  soon  repair  your  present  evil  plight.' 

T 


No.  541.     THURSDAY,  NOVEMBER  20,  1712. 


Format  enim  natura  prius  nos  intus  ad  omnem 
Fortunarmn  habiium  :  Juvai,  aut  impellit  ad  iram, 
Aut  ad  liumum  mmiwe  gravi  deducit,  et  angit : 
Post  effert  aninii  motns  interjirete  lingua. 

HOK.  ARS  POET.  108. 

For  nature  forms  and  softens  us  within, 

And  writes  our  fortune's  changes  in  our  face: 

Pleasure  enchants,  impetuous  rage  transports. 

And  grief  dejects,  and  wrings  the  tortured  soul : 

And  these  are  all  interpreted  by  speech,     roscommon. 

My  friend  the  Templar,  whom  I  have  so  often 
mentioned  in  these  writings,  having  determined  to 
lay  aside  his  poetical  studies,  in  order  to  a  closer 
pursuit  of  the  law,  has  put  together,  as  a  farewell 
essay,  some  thoughts  concerning  pronunciation  and 
action,  which  he  has  given  me  leave  to  communi- 
cate to  the  public.  They  are  chiefly  collected  from 
his  favourite  author  Cicero,  who  is  known  to  have 
been  an  intimate  friend  of  Roscius  the  actor,  and  a 
good  judge  of  dramatical  performances,  as  well  as 


358  SPECTATOR.  NO.    541. 

the  most  eloquent  pleader  of  the  time  in  which  he 
lived. 

Cicero  concludes  his  celebrated  books  De  Oratore 
with  some  precepts  for  pronunciation  and  action, 
without  which  part  he  atHrms  that  the  best  ora- 
tor in  the  world  can  never  succeed ;  and  an  indiffer- 
ent one,  who  is  master  of  this,  shall  gain  much 
greater  applause.  "  What  could  make  a  stronger 
impression,"  says  he,  "  than  those  exclamations  of 
Gracchus  ?  —  '  Whither  shall  I  turn  ?  Wretch  that 
I  am  !  to  what  place  betake  myself?  Shall  I  go  to 
the  Capitol  ?  Alas  !  it  is  overflowed  with  my  bro- 
ther's blood.  Or  shall  I  retire  to  my  house  ?  Yet 
there  I  behold  my  mother  plunged  in  misery,  weep- 
ing and  despairing  ! '  "  These  breaks  and  turns  of 
passion,  it  seems,  were  so  enforced  by  the  eyes, 
voice,  and  gesture  of  the  speaker,  that  hk  very 
enemies  could  not  refrain  from  tears.  "  I  insist," 
says  TuUy,  "  upon  this  the  rather,  because  our  ora- 
tors, who  are  as  it  were  actors  of  the  truth  itself, 
have  quitted  this  manner  of  speaking ;  and  the 
players,  who  are  but  the  imitators  of  truth,  have 
taken  it  up." 

I  shall  therefore  pursue  the  hint  he  has  here  given 
me,  and  for  the  service  of  the  British  stage  I  shall 
copy  some  of  the  rules  which  this  great  Roman 
master  has  laid  down  ;  yet  without  confining  myself 
wholly  to  his  thoughts  or  words  :  and  to  adapt  this 
essay  the  more  to  the  purpose  for  which  I  intend  it, 
instead  of  the  examples  he  has  inserted  in  this  dis- 
course out  of  the  ancient  tragedies,  I  shall  make  use 
of  parallel  passages  out  of  the  most  celebrated  of  our 
own. 

The  design  of  art  is  to  assist  action  as  much  as 
possible  in  the  I'epresentation  of  nature ;  for  the  ap- 
pearance of  reality  is  that  which  moves  us  in  all 


NO.    541.  SPECTATOR.  359 

representations,  and  these  have  always  the  greater 
force  the  nearer  they  approach  to  nature,  and  the 
less  they  show  of  imitation. 

Nature  herself  has  assigned  to  every  emotion  of 
the  soul  its  peculiar  cast  of  the  countenance,  tone 
of  voice,  and  manner  of  gesture,  and  tlie  whole  per- 
son ;  all  the  features  of  the  face  and  tones  of  the 
voice  answer,  like  strings  upon  musical  instruments, 
to  the  impressions  made  on  them  by  the  mind.  Thus 
the  sounds  of  the  voice,  according  to  the  various 
touches  which  raise  them,  form  themselves  into  an 
acute  or  grave,  quick  or  slow,  loud  or  soft,  tone. 
These  too  may  be  subdivided  into  various  kinds  of 
tones,  as  the  gentle,  the  rough,  the  contracted,  the 
diffuse,  the  continued,  the  intermitted,  tlie  broken, 
abrupt,  winding,  softened,  or  elevated.  Every  one 
of  these  may  be  employed  with  art  and  judgment ; 
and  all  supply  the  actor,  as  colours  do  the  painter, 
with  an  expressive  variety. 

Anger  exerts  its  peculiar  voice  in  an  acute,  raised, 
and  hurrying  sound.  The  passionate  character  of 
King  Lear,  as  it  is  admirably  drawn  by  Sliakspeare, 
abounds  with  the  strongest  instances  of  this  kind. 

— Death !  Confusion ! 
Fiery?  what  quality? — why  Gloster!  Gloster! 
I'd  speak  with  tlie  Duke  of  Cornwall  and  his  wife. 
Are  they  inform'd  of  this?  my  breath  and  blood! 
Fiery  ?  the  fiery  duke  ? &c. 

Sorrow  and  complaint  demand  a  voice  quite  dif- 
ferent; flexible,  slow,  interrupted,  and  modulated 
in  a  mournful  tone :  as  in  that  pathetical  soliloquy 
of  Cardinal  Wolsey,  on  his  fall. 

Farewell ! — a  long  farewell  to  all  my  greatness ! 

This  is  the  state  of  man! to-daj'  he  puts  forth 

The  tender  leaves  of  hope ;  to-morrow  blossoms, 


360  SPECTATOR.  NO.    B41. 

And  bears  his  blushing  honours  tliick  upon  him; 
Tlie  third  day  coincs  si  frost,  a  killing  (Vost, 
And  when  he  thinks,  g.iod  easy  man,  full  surely 
His  greatness  is  ripening,  nips  his  root, 
And  then  he  falls — as  I  do. 

We  have  likewise  a  fine  example  of  this  in  the 
whole  part  of  Andromache  in  The  Distrest  Mother, 
particularly  in  these  lines  — 

I'll  go,  and  in  the  anguisli  of  my  heart 

Weep  o'er  my  child If  he  must  die,  my  life 

Is  wrapt  in  his,  I  shall  not  long  survive. 
'Tis  for  his  sake  that  I  have  suti'er'd  life, 
Groau'd  in  captivity,  and  out-lived  Hector. 
Yes,  my  Astyanax,  we'll  go  together! 
Together  to  the  realms  of  night  we'll  go; 
There  to  thy  ravish'd  eyes  thy  sire  I'll  show, 
And  point  him  out  among  the  shades  below. 

Fear  expresses  itself  in  a  low,  hesitating,  and  ab- 
ject sound.  If  the  reader  considers  the  following 
speech  of  Lady  Macbeth,  while  her  husband  is  about 
the  murder  of  Duncan  and  his  grooms,  he  will  ima- 
gine her  even  afi'righted  with  the  sound  of  her  own 
voice  while  she  is  speaking  it. 

Alas!  I  am  afraid  thej'  have  awaked. 
And  'tis  not  done;  th'  attempt  and  not  the  deed 
Confouiuis  us — Hark! — I  laid  the  daggers  ready, 
He  ccyjld  not  miss  them.     Had  he  not  resembled 
Mj'  father  as  he  slept,  1  'd  done  't. 

Coui'age  assumes  a  louder  tone,  as  in  that  speech 
of  Don  Sebastian 

Here  satiate  all  your  fury ; 
Let  fortune  empty  her  whole  quiver  on  me; 
I  have  a  soul  that  like  an  ;imple  shield 
Can  take  in  all,  and  verge  enough  for  more. 

Pleasure  dissolves  into  a  luxurious,  mild,  tender, 
and  joyuus  modulation ;  as  in  the  following  lines  in 
Caius  Marius. 


NO.    541.  SPECTATOK.  361 

Lavinia!  0  there's  music  in  the  name, 
That  softening  me  to  infant  tenderness 
Makes  my  heart  spring  like  the  first  leaps  of  life. 

And  perplexity  is  different  from  all  these  ;  grave, 
but  not  bemoaning,  with  an  earnest  uniform  sound 
of  voice  ;  as  in  that  celebrated  speech  of  Hamlet. 

To  be,  or  not  to  be ! that  is  the  question. 

Whether  'tis  nobler  in  the  mind  to  suffer 
The  stings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune ; 
Or  to  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles, 
And  by  opposing  end  them.     To  die,  to  sleep; 
No  more ;  and  by  a  sleep  to  say  we  end 
The  heart-ache,  and  a  thousand  natural  shocks 
That  flesh  is  heir  to;  'tis  a  consummation 

Devoutly  to  be  wished !     To  die,  to  sleep ! 

To  sleep !  perchance  to  dream!  Ay,  there's  the  rub; 
For,  in  that  sleep  of  death,  what  dreams  may  come, 
When  we  have  shuflBed  off  this  mortal  coil. 

Must  give  us  pause There's  the  respect 

That  makes  calamity  of  so  long  life ; 

For  who  would  bear  the  whips  and  scorns  of  time, 

The  oppressor's  wrong,  the  proud  man's  contumely, 

The  pangs  of  despised  love,  the  law's  delay, 

The  insolence  of  office,  and  the  spurns 

That  patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  akes, 

When  he  himself  might  his  quietus  make 

With  a  bare  bodkin  V    Who  would  fardles  bear. 

To  groan  and  sweat  under  a  wearj'  life  ? 

But  that  the  dread  of  something  after  death, — 

The  undiscover'd  country,  from  whose  bourn 

No  traveller  returns, — puzzles  the  will, 

And  makes  us  rather  bear  those  ills  we  have. 

Than  fly  to  others  that  we  know  not  of. 

As  all  these  varieties  of  voice  are  to  be  directed 
by  the  sense,  so  the  action  is  to  be  directed  by  the 
voice,  and  with  a  beautiful  propriety,  as  it  were,  to 
enforce  it.  The  arm,  which  by  a  strong  figure  TuUy 
calls  the  orator's  weapon,  is  to  be  sometimes  raised 
and  extended  ;  and  the  hand,  by  its  motion,  some- 
times to  lead,  and  sometimes  to  follow,  the  words 
as  they  are  uttered.     The  stamping  of  tiie  foot  too 


362  SPECTATOK.  NO.    541. 

has  its  proper  expression  in  contention,  anger,  or 
absolute  command.  But  the  face  is  the  epitome  of 
the  whole  man,  and  the  eyes  are  as  it  were  the  epi- 
tome of  the  face ;  for  which  reason,  he  says,  the 
best  judges  among  the  Romans  were  not  extremely 
pleased  even  with  Roscius  himself  in  his  mask.  No 
part  of  the  body,  besides  the  face,  is  capal)le  of  as 
many  clianges  as  there  are  different  emotion-;  in  the 
mind,  and  of  expressing  them  all  by  those  changes. 
Nor  is  this  to  be  done  without  the  freedom  of  the 
eyes  ;  therefore  Theophrastus  called  one,  wiio  barely 
rehearsed  his  speech  with  his  eyes  fixed,  an  '  absent 
actor.' 

As  the  countenance  admits  of  so  great  variety,  it 
requires  also  great  judgment  to  govern  it.  Not  that 
the  form  of  the  face  is  to  be  shifted  on  every  occasion, 
lest  it  turn  to  farce  and  buffoonery  ;  but  it  is  certain 
that  the  eyes  have  a  wonderful  power  of  marking  the 
emotions  of  the  mind  ;  sometimes  by  a  steadfast  look, 
sometimes  by  a  careless  one  —  now  by  a  sudden  re- 
gard, then  by  a  joyful  sparkling,  as  the  sense  of  the 
words  is  diversified  :  fur  action  is,  as  it  were,  the 
speech  of  the  features  and  limbs,  and  must  therefore 
conform  itself  always  to  the  sentiments  of  the  soul. 
And  it  may  be  observed,  that  in  all  which  relates  to 
the  gesture  there  is  a  wonderful  force  implanted  by 
nature  ;  since  the  vulgar,  the  unskilful,  and  even  the 
most  barbarous,  are  chiefly  affected  by  this.  None 
are  moved  by  the  sound  of  words  but  those  who 
understand  the  language  ;  and  the  sense  of  many 
things  is  lost  upon  men  of  a  dull  apprehension  :  but 
action  is  a  kind  of  universal  tongue  ;  all  men  are 
subject  to  the  same  passions,  and  consequently  know 
the  same  marks  of  them  in  others,  by  which  they 
themselves  express  them. 

Perhaps  some  of  my  readers  may  be  of  opinion 


NO.    541.  SPECTATOR.  363 

that  the  hints  I  have  here  made  use  of  out  of  Cicero 
are  somewhat  too  refined  for  the  players  on  our 
theatre  ;  in  answer  to  which  I  venture  to  lay  it  down 
as  a  maxim,  that  without  good  sense  no  one  can  be 
a  good  player,  and  that  he  is  very  unfit  to  personate 
the  dignity  of  a  Roman  hero  who  cannot  enter  into 
the  rules  for  pronunciation  and  gesture  delivered  by 
a  Roman  orator. 

There  is  another  thing  which  my  author  does  not 
think  too  minute  to  insist  on,  though  it  is  purely  me- 
chanical ;  and  that  is  the  right  pitching  of  the  voice. 
On  this  occasion  he  tells  the  story  of  Gracchus,  who 
employed  a  servant  with  a  little  ivory  pipe  to  stand 
behind  him,  and  give  him  the  right  pitch,  as  often 
as  he  wandered  too  far  from  the  proper  modulation. 
'  Every  voice,'  says  Tully,  '  has  its  particular  me- 
dium and  compass,  and  the  sweetness  of  speech 
consists  in  leading  it  through  all  the  variety  of  tones 
naturally,  and  without  touching  any  extreme.  There- 
fore,' says  he,  '  leave  the  pipe  at  home,  but  carry 
the  sense  of  this  custom  with  you.' 


364  SPKCTATOR.  NO.    542. 


No.  542.     FRID.VY,  NOVEMBER  21,  1712. 


Et  sibi praferri  se  gaudei. —  ovin.  mkt.  ii.  431. 

— He  heard, 
Well  pleased,  himself  before  himself  preferr'd. 

ADDISON. 

When  I  liave  been  present  in  assemblies  where 
my  paper  has  been  talked  of,  I  have  been  veiy  well 
pleased  to  hear  those  who  would  detract  from  the 
autlior  of  it  observe,  that  the  letters  which  are  sent 
to  the  Spectator,  are  as  good,  if  not  better,  than  any 
of  his  works.  Upon  this  occasion  many  letters  of 
mirth  are  n^uall)'  mentioned,  which  some  think  the 
Spectator  writ  to  himself,  and  which  others  com- 
mend because  they  fancy  lie  received  them  from  his 
correspondents.  Such  are  those  from  the  valetudi- 
narian ;  the  inspector  of  the  sign-posts  ;  the  master 
of  the  fan  exercise ;  with  that  of  the  hooped  petti- 
coat;  that  of  Nicholas  Hart,  the  annual  sleei)cr  ; 
that  from  Sir  John  Envil  ;  that  upon  the  London 
Cries  ;  with  multitudes  of  the  same  nature.  As  I 
love  nothing  more  than  to  mortify  the  ill-natured, 
that  I  may  do  it  effectually,  I  must  acquaint  them 
they  have  very  often  praised  me  when  they  did  not 
design  it,  and  that  they  have  approved  my  writings 
when  they  thought  they  had  derogated  from  them. 
I  have  heard  several  of  these  unhappy  gentlemen 
proving,  by  undeniable  arguments,  that  I  was  not 
able  to  pen  a  letter  which  I  had  written  the  day  be- 
fore. Nay,  I  have  heard  some  of  them  throwing 
out  ambiguous  expressions,  and  giving  the  company 


NO.    542.  SPECTATOR.  365 

reason  to  suspect  that  they  themselves  did  me  the 
honour  to  send  me  such  or  such  a  particular  epistle, 
which  happened  to  be  talked  of  with  the  esteem  or 
approbation  of  those  who  were  present.  These 
rigid  critics  are  so  afraid  of  allowing  me  any  thing 
which  does  not  belong  to  me,  that  they  will  not  be 
positive  whether  the  lion,  the  wild  boar,  and  the 
flower-pots  in  the  play-house,  did  not  actually  write 
those  letters  which  came  to  me  in  their  names.  I 
must  therefore  inform  these  gentlemen,  that  I  often 
choose  this  way  of  casting  my  thoughts  into  a  letter, 
for  the  following  reasons.  First,  out  of  the  policy 
of  those  who  try  their  jest  upon  another,  before  they 
own  it  themselves.  Secondly,  because  I  would  extort 
a  little  praise  from  such  who  will  never  applaud  any 
thing  whose  author  is  known  and  certain.  Thirdly, 
because  it  gave  me  an  opportunity  of  introducing 
a  great  variety  of  characters  into  my  work,  which 
could  not  have  been  done  had  I  always  written  in 
the  person  of  the  Spectator.  Fourthly,  because  the 
dignity  Spectatorial  would  have  suffered  had  I  pub- 
lished as  from  myself  those  several  ludici'ous  compo- 
sitions which  I  have  ascribed  to  fictitious  names  and 
characters.  And  lastly,  because  they  often  serve 
to  bring  in  more  naturally  such  additional  reflections 
as  have  been  placed  at  the  end  of  them. 

There  are  otiiers  who  have  likewise  done  me  a 
very  particular  honour,  though  undesignedly.  These 
are  such  who  will  needs  have  it  that  I  have  trans- 
lated or  boiTowed  many  of  my  thoughts  out  of  books 
which  are  wi-itten  in  other  languages.  I  have  heard 
of  a  person,  who  is  more  famous  for  his  library  than 
his  learning,  that  has  asserted  this  more  than  once 
in  his  private  conversation.*     Were  it  true,  I  am 

*  The  person  here  alluded  to  was  most  probably  Mr.  Thomas 


366  sPECTATon.  no.  542. 

sure  ho  could  not  speak  it  from  liis  own  knowledge : 
but,  had  he  read  the  books  whieh  he  has  collected, 
he  would  find  this  accusation  to  be  wholly  ground- 
less. Tiiose  who  are  truly  learned  will  acquit  me 
in  this  point,  in  which  I  have  been  so  far  from 
offending,  tiiat  I  have  been  scrupulous,  perhaps  to  a 
fault,  in  quoting  the  authors  of  several  passages 
which  I  might  have  made  my  own.  But,  as  this 
assertion  is  in  reality  an  encomium  on  what  I  liave 
published,  I  ought  rather  to  glory  in  it  than  endea- 
vour to  confute  it. 

Some  are  so  very  willing  to  alienate  from  me  that 
small  rejiutation  which  might  accrue  to  me  from  any 
of  these  my  speculations,  that  they  attribute  some  of 
the  best  of  them  to  those  imaginary  manuscripts  with 
which  I  have  introduced  them.  There  are  others, 
I  must  confess,  whose  objections  have  given  rae  a 
greater  concern,  as  they  seem  to  reflect,  under  this 
liead,  ratlier  on  my  morality  than  on  my  invention. 
These  are  they  who  say  an  author  is  guilty  of  false- 
hood, when  he  talks  to  the  public  of  manuscripts 
which  he  never  saw,  or  describes  scenes  of  action 
or  discourse  in  which  lie  was  never  engaged.  But 
Ihese  gentlemen  would  do  well  to  consider,  there  is 
not  a  fable  or  parable,  which  ever  was  made  use  of, 
that  is  not  liable  to  this  exception  ;  since  nothing, 
according  to  this  notion,  can  be  related  innocently, 
which  was  not  once  matter  of  fact.  Besides,  I  think 
the  most  ordinary  reader  may  be  able  to  discover, 
by  my  way  of  writing,  what  I  deliver  in  tliese  occur- 
rences as  truth,  and  what  as  fiction. 

Since  I  am  unawares  engaged  in  answering  the 
several  objections  which   have   been   made   against 


Eawlinson,  ridiculed  by  Addison  under  the  name  of  Tom  Folio, 
in  the  Tatler,  No.  158. 


NO.    542.  SPECTATOR.  367 

these  my  works,  I  must  take  notice  that  thei-e  are 
some  who  affirm  a  paper  of  this  nature  should  always 
turn  upon  diverting  subjects,  and  others  who  find 
fault  with  every  one  of  them  that  hath  not  an  imme- 
diate tendency  to  the  advancement  of  religion  or 
leax'ning.  I  shall  leave  these  gentlemen  to  dispute 
it  out  among  themselves ;  since  I  see  one  half  of  my 
conduct  patronized  by  each  side.  "Were  I  serious 
on  an  improper  subject,  or  trifling  in  a  serious  one, 
I  should  deservedly  draw  upon  me  the  censure  of  my 
readers  ;  or  were  I  conscious  of  any  thing  in  my  writ- 
ings that  is  not  innocent  at  least,  or  that  the  gi'eatest 
part  of  them  were  not  sincerely  designed  to  discoun- 
tenance vice  and  ignorance,  and  support  the  interest 
of  true  wisdom  and  virtue,  I  should  be  moi'e  severe 
upon  myself  than  the  public  is  disposed  to  be.  In 
the  mean  Avhile  I  desire  my  reader  to  consider  every 
particular  paper  or  discourse,  as  a  distinct  tract  by 
itself,  and  independent  of  eveiy  thing  that  goes  be- 
fore or  after  it. 

I  shall  end  this  paper  with  the  following  letter, 
which  was  really  sent  me,  as  some  others  have  been 
which  I  have  published,  and  for  which  I  must  own 
myself  indebted  to  their  respective  writers. 

"  SIR, 

"  I  was  this  morning  in  a  company  of  your  well- 
wishers,  when  we  read  over,  with  great  satisfaction, 
TuUy's  observation  on  action  adapted  to  the  British 
theatre :  though  by  the  way,  we  were  very  son-y  to 
find  that  you  have  disposed  of  another  member  of 
your  club.  Poor  Sir  Roger  is  dead,  and  the  wortJiy 
clergyman  dying ;  Captain  Sentry  has  taken  posses- 
sion of  a  fair  estate  ;  Will  Honeycomb  has  married 
a  farmer's  daughter;  and  the  Templar  withdraws 
himself  into    the    business  of  his  own  profession. 


368  SPECTATOR.  NO.   543. 

What  will  all  tiiis  end  in  ?  We  are  afraid  it  por- 
tends no  good  to  the  public.  Unless  you  very 
speedily  fix  the  day  for  tlic  election  of  new  mem- 
bers, we  are  under  apprehensions  of  losing  the  Bri- 
tish Spectator.  I  hear  of  a  party  of  ladies  who 
intend  to  address  you  on  this  subject :  and  question 
not,  if  you  do  not  give  us  the  slip  very  suddenly, 
that  you  will  receive  addresses  from  all  parts  of 
the  kingdom  to  continue  so  useful  a  work.  Pray 
deliver  us  out  of  this  perplexity ;  and,  among  the 
multitude  of  your  readers,  you  will  particularly 
oblige 

"Your  most  sincere  friend  and  servant, 
O  "  Philo-Spec." 


No.  543.     SATURDAY,  NOVEMBER  22,  1712. 


— Fades  non  omnibus  una  est. 
Nee  diversa  tamen. —  ovid.  met.  ii.  13. 

Similar,  though  not  the  same. — 

Those  who  were  skilful  in  anatomy,  among  the 
ancients,  concluded,  from  the  outward  and  inward 
make  of  a  human  body,  that  it  was  the  work  of  a 
Being  transcendently  wise  and  powerful.  As  the 
world  grew  more  enlightened  in  this  art,  their  dis- 
coveries gave  them  fresh  opportunities  of  admiring 
the  conduct  of  Providence  in  the  formation  of  a  hu- 
man body.  Galen  was  converted  l)y  his  dissections, 
and  could  not  but  own  a   Supreme   Being   upon  a 


NO.    543.  SPECTATOK.  369 

survey  of  this  liis  handy  work.  There  were,  indeed, 
many  part?,  of  which  the  old  anatomists  did  not  know 
the  certain  use ;  but,  a?  they  saw  the  most  of  those 
~  which  they  examined  were  adapted  with  admirable 
art  to  their  several  functions,  they  did  not  question 
but  those,  whose  uses  they  could  not  determine,  were 
contrived  with  the  same  wisdom  for  respective  ends 
and  purposes.  Since  the  circulation  of  the  blood  has 
been  found  out,  and  many  other  great  discoveries 
have  been  made  by  our  modern  anatomists,  we  see 
new  wonders  in  the  human  frame,  and  discern  seve- 
ral important  uses  for  those  parts,  which  uses  the 
ancients  knew  nothing  of  In  short,  the  body  of 
man  is  such  a  subject  as  stands  the  utmost  test  of 
examination.  Though  it  appears  formed  with  the 
nicest  wisdom,  upon  the  most  superficial  survey  of 
it,  it  still  mends  upon  the  search,  and  produces  our 
surprise  and  amazement  in  proportion  as  we  pry 
into  it.  What  I  have  here  said  of  a  human  body 
may  be  applied  to  the  body  of  every  animal  which 
has  been  the  subject  of  anatomical  observations. 

The  body  of  an  animal  is  an  object  adequate  to 
our  senses.  It  is  a  particular  system  of  Providence 
that  lies  in  a  narrow  compass.  The  eye  is  able  to 
command  it,  and  by  successive  inquiries,  can  search 
into  all  its  parts.  Could  the  body  of  the  whole  earth, 
or  indeed  the  whole  universe,  be  thus  submitted  to 
the  examination  of  our  senses,  were  it  not  too  big 
and  disproportioned  for  our  inquiries,  too  unwieldy 
for  the  management  of  the  eye  and  hand,  there  is  no 
question  but  it  would  appear  to  us  as  curious  and 
well-contrived  a  frame,  as  that  of  the  human  body. 
We  should  see  the  same  concatenation  and  subser- 
viency, the  same  necessity  and  usefulness,  the  same 
beauty  and  harmony,  in  all  and  every  of  its  parts, 

VOL.  XI.  24 


370  SPECTATOR.  NO.    543. 

as  what  we   discover  in  tlie   body  of  every  single 
animal. 

The  more  extended  our  reason  is,  and  the  more 
able  to  grap[)le  with  immense  objects,  the  greater' 
still  are  tliose  discoveries  which  it  makes  of  wisdom 
and  providence  in  the  work  of  the  creation.  A  Sir 
Isaac  Newton,  who  stands  up  as  the  miracle  of  the 
present  age,  can  look  through  a  whole  planetary 
system  ;  consider  it  in  its  weight,  number,  and  mea- 
sure ;  and  draw  from  it  as  many  demonstrations  of 
inBnite  power  and  wisdom,  as  a  more  confined  un- 
derstanding is  able  to  deduce  from  the  system  of  a 
human  body. 

But  to  return  to  our  speculations  on  anatomy,  I 
shall  here  consider  Uie  fabric  and  texture  of  the  bo- 
dies of  animals  in  one  particular  view  :  which,  in  my 
opinion,  shows  the  Iiand  of  a  thinking  and  all-wise 
Being  in  their  formation,  with  the  evidence  of  a 
thousand  demonstrations.  I  think  we  may  lay  this 
down  as  an  incontested  principle,  that  chance  never 
acts  in  a  perpetual  uniformity  and  consistence  with 
itself  If  one  should  always  fling  the  same  number 
with  ten  thousand  dice,  or  see  every  throw  just  five 
times  less,  or  five  times  more  in  number,  than  the 
throw  which  immediately  preceded  it,  who  would 
not  imagine  there  is  some  invisible  power  which  di- 
rects the  cast?  This  is  the  proceeding  which  we 
find  in  the  operations  of  nature.  Every  kind  of 
animal  is  diversified  by  different  magnitudes,  each 
of  which  gives  rise  to  a  different  species.  Let  a 
man  trace  the  dog  or  lion  kind,  and  he  will  observe 
how  many  of  the  works  of  nature  are  published,  if  I 
may  use  the  expression,  in  a  variety  of  editions.  If 
we  look  into  the  reptile  world,  or  into  those  different 
kinds  of  animals  tliat  fill  the  element  of  water,  we 
meet  with  the  same  repetitions  among  several  species, 


NO.    543.  SPECTATOR.  371 

that  differ  very  little  from  one  another,  but  in  size 
and  bulk.  You  tind  the  same  creature  that  is  drawn 
at  large,  copied  out  in  several  proportions,  and  end- 
ing in  miniature.  It  would  be  [as]  tedious  to  pro- 
duce instances  of  this  regular  conduct  in  Providence, 
as  it  would  be  superfluous  to  those  who  are  versed 
in  the  natural  history  of  animals.  The  magnificent 
harmony  of  the  universe  is  such,  that  we  may  ob- 
serve innumerable  divisions  running  upon  the  same 
ground.  I  might  also  extend  this  speculation  to  the 
dead  parts  of  nature,  in  which  we  may  find  matter 
disposed  into  many  similar  systems,  as  well  in  our 
survey  of  stars  and  planet-,  as  of  stones,  vegetables, 
and  other  sublunary  parts  of  the  creation.  In  a  word, 
Providence  has  shown  the  ricltness  of  its  goodness 
and  wisdom,  not  only  in  the  jiroduction  of  many  ori- 
ginal species,  but  in  the  multiplicity  of  descants,* 
which  it  has  made  on  every  original  species  in  par- 
ticular. 

But  to  pursue  this  thought  still  further.  Every 
living  creature  considered  in  itself,  has  many  very 
complicated  parts,  that  are  exact  copies  of  some 
other  parts  which  it  possesses,  and  which  are  com- 
plicated in  the  same  manner.  One  eye  would  have 
been  sufiicient  for  the  subsistence  and  preservation 
of  an  animal ;  but,  in  order  to  better  his  condition, 
we  see  another  placed  with  a  mathematical  exactness 
in  the  same  most  advantageous  situation,  and,  in 
every  particular,  of  the  same  size  and  texture.  Is 
it  possible  for  chance  to  be  thus  delicate  and  uniform 
in  her  operations  ?  Should  a  million  of  dice  turn 
up  twice  together  the  same  number,  the  wonder 
would  be  nothing  in  comparison  with  this.    But  when 


*  Meant  perhaps   for  descents,  i.  e.  progress   downwards. — 
Johnson. 


372  Sl'KCTATOR.  NO.   648 

we  see  this  siinilitiule  and  resemblance  in  the  arm, 
the  hand,  the  fingers  ;  when  we  see  one  half  of  the 
body  entirely  corres[)ond  with  the  otlier  in  all  those 
minute  strokes,  witliout  which  a  man  migiit  have 
very  well  subsisted  ;  nay,  when  we  often  see  a  sin- 
gle i)art  repeated  a  hundred  times  in  tiie  same  body, 
notwiliistanding  it  consists  of  the  most  intricate 
weaving  of  numberless  fibres,  and  these  parts  differ- 
ing still  in  magnitude,  as  the  convenience  of  their 
jjarticuhir  situation  requires  ;  sure  a  man  must  have 
a  strange  cast  of  understanding,  who  does  not  dis- 
cover the  finger  of  God  in  so  wonderful  a  work. 
These  duplicates  in  those  parts  of  the  body,  without 
which  a  man  might  have  very  well  subsisted,  though 
not  so  well  as  with  them,  are  a  plain  demonstration 
of  an  all-wise  Contriver,  as  those  more  numerous 
copyings  which  are  found  among  the  vessels  of  the 
same  body,  are  evident  demonstrations  that  they 
could  not  be  the  work  of  chance.  This  argument 
receives  additional  strength,  if  we  apply  it  to  every 
animal  and  insect  within  our  knowledge,  as  well  as 
to  those  numberless  living  creatures  that  are  objects 
too  minute  for  a  human  eye  :  and  if  we  consider  how 
the  several  species  in  this  whole  world  of  life  resem- 
ble one  another  in  very  many  [)articulars,  so  far  as 
is  convenient  for  their  respective  states  of  existence, 
it  is  much  more  probable  that  a  hundred  millions 
of  dice  should  be  casually  thrown  a  hundred  millions 
of  times  in  the  same  number,  than  that  the  body  of 
any  single  animal  should  be  produced  by  the  fortu- 
itous concourse  of  matter.  And  that  the  like  chance 
should  arise  in  innumerable  instances  requires  a  de- 
gree of  ci'edulity  that  is  not  under  the  direction  of 
common  sense.  We  may  carry  this  consideration 
yet  further,  if  we  reflect  on  the  two  sexes  in  every 
living  species,  with  their  resemblances  to  each  other, 


NO.    544.  SPECTATOR.  373 

and  those  particular  distinctions  that  were  necessary 
for  the  keeping  up  of  this  great  world  of  life. 

There  are  many  more  demonstrations  of  a  Su- 
preme Being,  and  of  his  transcendent  wisdom,  power, 
and  goodness,  in  the  formation  of  the  body  of  a  living 
creature,  for  which  I  refer  my  reader  to  other  writ- 
ings, particularly  to  the  sixth  book  of  the  poem 
entitled  Creation,*  where  the  anatomy  of  the  human 
body  is  described  with  great  perspicuity  and  elegance. 
I  have  been  particular  on  the  thought  which  runs 
through  this  speculation,  because  I  have  not  seen  it 
enlarged  upon  by  others. 
O 


No.  544.     MONDAY,  NOVEMBER  24,  1712. 


Nunquam  iia  quisquam  bene  suMuctd  ratione  ad  vitam  fuit, 
Quin  res,  mtas,  usus,  semper  aliquid  ajiportet  novi, 
Aliquid  moneat ;  ui  iUa,  qucs  ie  scire  credas,  nescias ; 
Et,  quce  tibi  puiaris  prima,  in  experiundo  ut  repudies. 

TER.   ADELPH.    ACT.  V.  SC.  4.  1. 

No  man  was  ever  so  completely  skilled  in  the  conduct  of  life, 
as  not  to  receive  new  information  from  age  and  experience : 
insomuch  that  we  find  ourselves  really  ignorant  of  what  we 
thought  we  understood,  and  see  cause  to  reject  what  we 
fancied  our  truest  interest. 

There  are,  I  think,  sentiments  in  the  following 
letter  from  my  friend  Captain  Sentry,  which  discover 
a  rational  and  equal  frame  of  mind,  as  well  pi'epared 
for  an  advantageous,  as  an  unfortunate  change  of 
condition. 

*  Creation.    A  poem  by  Sir  Richard  Blackmore. 


374  SPECTATOR.  NO.  544. 

"  8IR, 

*'  I  am  come  to  the  succession  of  the  estate  of  my 
honored  kinsman.  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  ;  and  I 
assure  you  I  fnid  it  no  easy  task  to  keep  up  the 
figure  of  a  master  of  the  fortune  which  was  so  hand- 
somely enjoyed  by  that  lionest,  phiin  man.  I  cannot, 
with  respect  to  the  great  obhgations  I  have,  be  it 
spoken,  reflect  upon  his  character,  but  I  am  confirmed 
in  the  truth  which  I  have,  I  think,  heard  spoken  at 
the  club  :  to  wit,  that  a  man  of  a  warm  and  well- 
disposed  heart,  with  a  very  small  capacity,  is  highly 
superior  in  human  society  to  him  who,  with  the 
greatest  talents,  is  cold  and  languid  in  his  affections. 
But,  alas  !  why  do  I  make  a  difficulty  in  speaking 
of  ray  worthy  ancestor's  failings?  His  little  absurd- 
ities, and  incapacity  for  the  conversation  of  the 
politest  men,  are  dead  with  him,  and  his  greater 
qualities  are  even  now  useful  to  him.  I  know  not 
whether  by  naming  those  disabilities,  I  do  not  en- 
hance his  merit,  since  he  has  left  behind  him  a 
reputation  in  his  country,  which  would  be  worth  the 
pains  of  the  wisest  man's  whole  life  to  arrive  at. 
By  the  way,  I  must  observe  to  you,  that  many  of 
your  I'eaders  have  mistook  that  passage  in  your  writ- 
ings, wherein  Sir  Roger  is  reported  to  have  inquired 
into  the  private  character  of  the  young  woman  at 
the  tavern.  I  know  you  mentioned  that  circumstance 
as  an  instance  of  the  simplicity  and  innocence  of  his 
mind,  which  made  him  imagine  it  a  very  easy  thing 
to  reclaim  one  of  those  criminals,  and  not  as  an  in- 
clination in  him  to  be  guilty  with  her.  The  less 
discerning  of  your  readers  cannot  enter  into  that 
delicacy  of  description  in  the  character  ;  but,  indeed, 
my  chief  business  at  this  time  is  to  represent  to  you 
my  present  state  of  mind,  and   the   satisfactions  I 


NO.    544.  SPECTATOK.  375 

promise  to  myself  in  the  possession  of  my  new  for- 
tune. I  have  continued  all  Sir  Roger's  servants, 
except  such  as  it  was  a  relief  to  dismiss  into  little 
beings  within  my  manor.  Those  who  are  in  a  list 
of.  the  good  knight's  own  hand  to  be  taken  care  of 
by  me,  I  have  quartered  upon  such  as  have  taken 
new  leases  of  me,  and  added  so  many  advantages 
during  the  lives  of  the  persons  so  quartered,  that  it 
is  the  interest  of  those  whom  they  are  joined  with  to 
cherish  and  befriend  them  upon  all  occasions.  I 
find  a  considerable  sum  of  ready  money,  which  I  am 
laying  out  among  my  dependents  at  the  common 
interest,  but  with  a  design  to  lend  it  according  to 
their  merit,  rather  than  according  to  their  ability. 
I  shall  lay  a  tax  upon  such  as  I  have  highly  obliged, 
to  become  security  to  me  for  such  of  their  own  poor 
youth,  whether  male  or  female,  as  want  help  towards 
getting  into  some  being  in  the  world.  I  hope  I  shall 
be  able  to  manage  my  affairs  so  as  to  improve  my 
fortune  every  year,  by  doing  acts  of  kindness.  I 
will  lend  my  money  to  the  use  of  none  but  indigent 
men,  secured  by  such  as  have  ceased  to  be  indigent 
by  the  favour  of  my  family  or  myself.  What  makes 
this  the  more  practicable  is,  that  if  they  will  do  any 
one  good  with  my  money,  they  are  welcome  to  it 
upon  their  own  security  ;  and  I  make  no  exception 
against  it,  because  the  persons  who  enter  into  the 
obligations,  do  it  for  their  own  family.  I  have  laid 
out  four  thousand  pounds  this  way,  and  it  is  not  to 
be  imagined  what  a  crowd  of  people  are  obliged  by 
it.  In  cases  where  Sir  Roger  has  recommended,  I 
have  lent  money  to  put  out  children,  Avith  a  clause 
which  makes  void  the  obligation  in  case  the  infant 
dies  before  he  is  out  of  his  apprenticeship  ;  by  which 
means  the  kindred  and  masters  are  extremely  care- 
ful of  breeding  him  to  industry,  that  he  may  repay 


370  SI'KCTATOU.  XO.   544. 

it  himself  by  his  labour,  in  three  yearn'  journey-work 
after  liis  time  is  out,  for  the  use  of  his  securities. 
Opportunities  of  this  kind  are  all  that  have  occurred 
since  I  came  to  ray  estate  ;  but  I  assure  you  I  will 
preserve  a  constant  disposition  to  catch  at  all  the 
occasions  I  can  to  promote  the  good  and  ha])piness 
of  my  neighbourhood. 

"  But  give  me  leave  to  lay  before  you  a  little 
establishment  which  has  grown  out  of  my  past  life, 
that  I  doubt  not  will  administer  grwit  satisfaction  to 
me  in  that  part  of  it,  whatever  that  is,  which  is  to 
come. 

"  There  is  a  prejudice  in  favor  of  the  way  of  life 
to  which  a  man  lias  been  educated,  which  I  know 
not  whether  it  would  not  be  faulty  to  overcome. 
It  is  like  a  partiality  to  the  interest  of  one's  own 
country  before  that  of  any  other  nation.  It  is  from 
a  habit  of  thinking,  grown  upon  me  from  my  youth 
spent  in  arms,  that  I  have  ever  held  gentlemen,  who 
have  preserved  modesty,  good-nature,  justice,  and 
humanity,  in  a  soldier's  life,  to  be  the  most  valuable 
and  worthy  persons  of  the  human  race.  To  pass 
through  imminent  dangers,  suffer  painful  watchings, 
fi-ightful  alarms,  and  laborious  marches,  for  the  great- 
er part  of  a  man's  time,  and  pass  the  rest  in  a  sobri- 
ety conformable  to  the  rules  of  the  most  virtuous 
civil  life,  is  a  merit  too  great  to  deserve  the  treatment 
it  usually  meets  with  among  the  other  part  of  the 
world.  But  I  assure  you,  Sir,  were  there  not  very 
many  who  have  this  worth,  we  could  never  have 
seen  the  glorious  events  which  we  have  in  our  days. 
I  need  not  say  more  to  illustrate  the  character  of  a 
soldier,  than  to  tell  you  he  is  tlie  very  contrary  to  him 
you  observe  loud,  saucy,  and  overbearing,  in  a  red 
coat  about  town.  But  I  was  going  to  tell  you  that, 
in  honor  of  the  profession  of  arms,  I  have  set  apart 


NO.    544. 


SPECTATOR.  377 


a  certain  sura  of  money  for  a  table  for  such  gentle- 
men as  have  served  their  country  in  the  army,  and 
will  please  from  time  to  time  to  sojourn  all,  or  any 
part  of  the  year,  at  Coverley.  Such  of  them  as 
will  do  me  that  honor  shall  find  horses,  servants,  and 
all  things  necessary  for  their  accommodation  and 
enjoyment  of  all  the  conveniences  of  life  in  a  plea- 
sant various  country.  If  Colonel  Camperfelt*  be  in 
town,  and  his  abilities  are  not  employed  another  way 
in  the  service,  there  is  no  man  would  be  more  wel- 
come here.  That  gentleman's  thorough  knowledge 
in  his  profession,  together  with  the  simplicity  of  his 
manners  and  goodness  of  his  heart,  would  induce 
others  like  him  to  honour  my  abode ;  and  I  should 
be  glad  my  acquaintance  would  take  themselves  to 
be  invited  or  not,  as  their  characters  have  an  afiini- 
ty  to  his. 

"  I  would  have  all  my  friends  know,  that  they 
need  not  fear,  (though  I  am  become  a  country  gen- 
tleman,) I  will  trespass  against  their  temperance 
and  sobriety.  No,  Sir,  I  shall  retain  so  much  of  the 
good  sentiments  for  the  conduct  of  life,  which  we 
cultivated  in  each  other  at  our  club,  as  to  contemn 
all  inordinate  pleasures  ;  but  particularly  remember, 
with  our  beloved  Tully,  that  the  delight  in  food  con- 
sists in  desire,  not  satiety.  They  who  most  passion- 
ately pursue  pleasure  seldomest  arrive  at  it.  Now 
I  am  writing  to  a  philosopher  I  cannot  forbear  men- 
tioning the  satisfaction  1  took  in  the  passage  I  read 
yesterday  in  the  same  Tully.  A  nobleman  of  Ath- 
ens made  a  compliment  to  Plato  the  morning  after 
he  had  supped  at  his  house.     '  Your  entertainments 


*  Colonel  Camperfelt.  Spect.  in  folio.  A  fine  compliment  to 
the  father  of  the  late  worthy  admiral  Kempenfelt,  who  was 
drowned  in  the  Royal  George  at  Spithead,  August  29,  1782. 


378  SPECTATOR.  NO.   545. 

do  not  only  please  when  you  give  them,  but  also  the 
day  after.' 

"  I  am, 
"  My  worthy  friend, 
"Your  most  obedient  humble  servant, 

"WiLHAM  Sentry." 
"  Coverley-hall,  Nov.  15,  Worcestershire." 

T 


No.  545.     TUESDAY,   NOVEIklBER  25,  1712. 


Quin  poiius  pacem  ceternam  pactosque  hymetuBOs 
Exercemus —  vikg.  ^n.  iv.  99. 

Let  us  in  bonds  of  lasting  peace  unite, 
And  celebrate  the  hymeneal  rite. 

I  CANNOT  but  think  the  following  letter  from  the 
Emperor  of  China  to  the  Pope  of  Rome,  proposing 
a  coalition  of  the  Chinese  and  Roman  ciiurches,  will 
be  acceptable  to  the  curious.  I  must  confess,  I  my- 
self being  of  opinion  that  the  emperor  has  as  much 
authority  to  be  interpreter  to  him  he  pretends  to  ex- 
pound, as  the  pope  has  to  be  vicar  to  the  sacred 
person  he  takes  upon  him  to  represent,  I  was  not  a 
little  pleased  with  their  treaty  of  alliance.  What 
progress  the  negotiation  between  his  Majesty  of  Rome 
and  his  Holiness  of  China,  makes,  as  we  daily  writers 
say  upon  subjects  where  we  are  at  a  loss,  time  will 
let  us  know.  In  the  mean  time,  since  they  agree  in 
the  fundamentals  of  power  and  authority,  and  differ 
only  in  matters  of  faith,  we  may  expect  the  matter 
will  go  on  \\'ilhout  difficulty. 


NO.    545.  SPECTATOR. 


379 


Copia  di  lettera  del  re  della  Chiua  al  Papa,  in- 
terpretata  dal  padre  segretario  dell'  India  della 
compagnia  di  Giesu. 

A  vol  BENEDETTO  SOPRA  I  BENEDETTI  P.  P.  ED  IN- 
TERPRETATORE  GRAJ^DE  DE  PONTIFICI  E  PASTORE 
XMO,  DISPENSATORE  DEL'  OGLIO  DE  I  RE  D'EU- 
ROPE,   CLEMEXTE   XI. 

"  II  favorite  amico  di  Dio  Gionata  7o,  potentissimo 
sopra  tutti  i  potentissimi  della  terra,  altissimo  sopra 
tutti  gl'altissimi  sotto  il  sole  e  la  luna,  che  sude  nella 
sede  di  smeraldo  della  China  sopra  cento  scalini 
d'oro,  ad  interpretare  la  lingua  di  Dio  a  tutti  i  de- 
scendenti  fedeli  d'Abramo,  che  de  la  vita  e  la  morte 
a  cento  quindici  regni,  ed  e  cento  settante  isole,  scrive 
con  la  penna  dello  struzzo  vergine,  e  manda  salute 
ed  accresimeuto  di  vecchiezza. 

"  Essendo  arrivato  il  tempo  in  cui  il  fiore  della 
reale  nostro  gioventu  deve  maturare  i  frutti  della 
nostra  vectuezza,  e  confortare  con  quell'  i  desiderii  de 
i  populi  nostri  divoti,  e  propagare  il  seme  di  quella 
pianta  che  deve  proteggerli,  habbiamo  stabillito  d'ac- 
compagnarci  con  una  vergine  eccelsa  ed  amorosa 
allattata  alia  mamella  della  leonessa  forte  e  dell' 
agnella  mansueta.  Percio  essendoci  stato  figurato 
sempre  il  vostro  populo  Europeo  Eomano  per  paese 
di  donne  invitte,  i  forte,  e  caste  ;  allongiamo  la  nostra 
mano  potente,  a  stringere  una  di  loro,  e  questa  sark 
una  vostra  nipote,  o  nipote  di  qualche  altrograri 
sacerdote  Latino,  che  sia  quardata  dall',  occhio  dritto 
di  Dio,  sara  seminata  in  lei  I'autorita  di  Sarra,  la 
fedelta  d'Esther,  e  la  sapienza  di  Abba ;  la  vogliamo 
con  I'occhio  che  guarda  il  cielo,  e  la  terra,  e  con  la 
bocca  della  conchiglia  che  si  pasce  della  ruggiada 
del  matino.  La  sua  eta  uon  passi  ducento  corsi  della 
luna,  la  sua  statura  si  alta  quanto  4a  spicca  dritta 


380  SPECTATOR.  NO.    545. 

del  grano  verdc,  e  la  sua  grossezza  quanto  un  raani- 
polo  di  grano  seceo.  Noi  la  mandareramo  a  vestire 
per  li  nostri  mandatici  ambasciadori,  e  cbi  la  condur- 
anno  a  noi,  e  noi  incontraremmo  alia  riva  del  fiume 
grande  focendola  salire  sue  nostro  cocchio.  Ella 
potra  adorare  appresso  di  noi  il  suo  Dio,  con  venti 
quatro  altre  a  suo  ellezzione  e  potra  cantare  con 
loro,  come  la  tottora  alia  ^^I'iniavera. 

"  Sodisfando  noi  padre  e  amico  nostro  questa 
nostra  brama,  sarete  caggione  di  unire  in  perpetua 
araicitia  cotesti  vostri  i-egni  d'Europa  all  nostro  do- 
minante  impei'io,  e  si  abbracciranno  le  vostri  leggi 
come  I'edera  abbraccia ;  la  pianta ;  e  noi  medesemi 
spargeremo  dtd  nostro  seme  rcale  in  coteste  pro- 
vincei,  riscaldando  i  letti  di  vostri  principi  con  il 
fuoco  amoroso  delle  nostre  amazoni,  d'alcune  delle 
quali  i  nostri  mandatici  ambasciadori  vi  porteranno 
le  somiglianza  dipinte. 

"  Vi  conlirmiamo  di  tenere  in  pace  le  due  buone 
reli";iose  faniin^lie  delli  missionarii  sfli'  fi"flioli  d'l^na- 
zio,  e  li  biancbi  e  neri  figlioli  di  Dominico,  il  cui 
consiglio  degl'  uni  e  degl'  altri  ci  serve  di  scorta  nel 
nostro  regimento  e  di  lume  ad  interpretare  le  divine 
legge,  come  appuncto  fa  lume  I'oglio  che  si  getta  in 
mare. 

"  In  tanto  alzandoci  dal  nostro  trono  per  abbrac- 
ciarvi,  vidi  cbiariamo  nostro  congiunto  e  coiifederato, 
ed  ordiniamo  clie  questo  foglio  sia  segnato  col  nostro 
segno  imperiale  della  nostra  citta,  capo  del  mondo, 
il  quinto  giorno  della  terza  lunatione  I'anno  quarto 
del  nostro  imperio. 

"  bigillo  e  un  sole  nelle  cui  faccia  e  anche  quella 
della  luna  ed  intorno  tra  i  raggi  vi  sono  traposte  al- 
cune  spada. 

"  Dico  il  traduttore  che  secondo  ill  ceremonial  di 
questo  lettere  e-  recedeutissimo  specialmente  fessere 


NO.   545.  SPECTATOK.  381 

scritto  con  la  penna  dello  struzzo-virgine  con  la 
quelle  non  sogliosi  scrivere  quel  re  die  le  pregiere  a 
Die  e  scrivendo  a  qualche  altro  principe  del  mondo, 
la  maggior  finezza  che  usiuo,  e  scrivergli  con  la 
penna  del  pavone." 


A  letter  from  the  emperor  of  China  to  the  Pope, 
interpreted  by  a  father  Jesuit,  secretary  of  the 
Indies. 

TO  YOU  BLESSED  ABOVE  THE  BLESSED,  GREAT  EM- 
PEROR OF  BISHOPS  AND  PASTOR  OF  CHRISTIANS, 
DISPENSER  OF  THE  OIL  OF  THE  KINGS  OF  EU- 
ROPE,  CLEMENT   XI. 

"  The  favourite  friend  of  God,  Gionatta  the  Vllth, 
the  most  powerful  above  the  most  powerful  of  the 
earth,  highest  above  the  highest  under  the  sun  and 
moon,  who  sits  on  a  throne  of  emerald  of  China, 
above  100  steps  of  gold,  to  interpret  the  language 
of  God  to  the  faithful,  and  who  gives  life  and  death 
to  115  kingdoms,  and  170  islands  ;  he  writes  with 
the  quill  of  a  virgin  ostrich,  and  sends  health  and 
increase  of  old  age. 

"  Being  arrived  at  the  time  of  our  age,  in  which 
the  flower  of  our  royal  youth  ought  to  ripen  into 
fruit  towards  old  age,  to  comfort  therewith  the  de- 
sire of  our  devoted  people,  and  propagate  the  seed 
of  that  plant  which  must  protect  them ;  we  have 
determined  to  accompany  ourselves  with  a  high 
amorous  virgin,  suckled  at  the  breast  of  a  wild 
lioness,  and  a  meek  lamb  ;  and,  imagining  with 
ourselves  that  your  European  Roman  people  is  the 
father  of  many  unconquerable  and  chaste  ladies,  we 
stretch  out  our  powerful  arm  to  embrace  one  of 


382  SPECTATOK.  NO.   545. 

them,  and  she  shall  bo  one  of  your  nieces,  or  the 
niece  of  some  other  great  Latin  priest,  that  darling 
of  God's  right  eye.  Let  the  authority  of  Sarah  be 
sown  in  her,  the  fidelity  of  Estlier,  and  the  wisdom 
of  Abba.  We  would  have  her  eye  like  that  of  a 
dove,  which  may  look  upon  heaven  and  earth,  with 
the  mouth  of  a  shell-fish  to  feed  upon  the  dew  of  the 
morning:  her  age  must  not  exceed  200  courses  of 
the  moon  ;  let  her  stature  be  equal  to  that  of  an 
ear  of  green  corn,  and  her  girth  a  handful. 

"  We  will  send  our  mandarins  ambassadors  to 
clothe  her,  and  to  conduct  her  to  us,  and  we  will 
meet  her  on  the  bank  of  the  great  river,  making 
her  to  leap  up  into  our  chariot.  She  may  with  us 
worship  her  own  God,  together  with  twenty-four 
virgins  of  her  own  choosing  ;  and  she  may  sing  with 
them  as  the  turtle  in  the  spring. 

"  You,  O  father  and  friend,  complying  with  this 
our  desire,  may  be  an  occasion  of  uniting  in  perpet- 
ual friendship  our  liigh  empire  with  your  European 
kingdoms,  and  we  may  embrace  your  laws  as  the 
ivy  embraces  the  tree  ;  and  we  ourselves  may  scatter 
our  royal  blood  into  your  provinces,  warming  the 
chief  of  your  princes  with  the  amorous  fire  of  our 
amazons,  the  resembling  pictures  of  some  of  which 
our  said  mandarins  ambassadors  shall  convey  to 
you. 

"  We  exhort  you  to  keep  in  peace  two  good  reli- 
gious families  of  missionaries,  the  black  sons  of  Igna- 
tius, and  the  white  and  black  sons  of  Dominicus ; 
that  the  counsel,  both  of  the  one  and  the  other,  may 
serve  as  a  guide  to  us  in  our  government,  and  a 
ligiit  to  interpret  the  divine  law,  as  the  oil  cast  into 
the  sea  produces  light. 

"To  conclude,  we  rising  up  in  our  throne  to  em- 
brace you,  we  declare  you  our  ally  and  confederate ; 


\0.    546. 


SPECTATOR.  383 


and  have  ordered  this  leaf  to  be  sealed  with  our  im- 
perial signet,  in  our  royal  city  the  head  of  the  world, 
(he  eighth  day  of  the  third  lunation,  and  the  fourth 
year  of  our  reign." 


Letters  from  Eome  say,  the  whole  conversation 
both  among  gentlemen  and  ladies  has  turned  upon 
the  subject  of  this  epistle,  ever  since  it  arrived.  The 
Jesuit  who  translated  it  says,  it  loses  much  of  the 
majesty  of  the  original  in  the  Italian.  It  seems 
there  was  an  offer  of  the  same  nature  made  by  a 
predecessor  of  the  present  emperor  to  Lewis  Xlllth 
of  France  ;  but  no  lady  of  that  court  would  take  the 
voyage,  that  sex  not  being  at  that  time  so  much  used 
in  politic  negotiations.  The  manner  of  treating  the 
pope  is,  according  to  the  Chinese  ceremonial,  very 
respectful  :  for  the  emperor  writes  to  him  with  the 
quill  of  a  virgin  ostrich,  which  was  never  used  before 
but  in  writing  prayers.  Instructions  are  preparing 
for  the  lady  who  shall  have  so  much  zeal  as  to  un- 
dertake this  pilgrimage,  and  be  an  empress  for  the 
sake  of  her  religion.  The  principal  of  the  Indian 
missionaries  has  given  in  a  list  of  the  reigning  sins 
in  China,  in  order  to  prepare  the  indulgences  neces- 
sary to  this  lady  and  her  retinue,  in  advancing  the 
interests  of  the  Roman  Catholic  religion  in  those 
kingdoms. 

"  TO    THE   SPECTATOR-GENERAL. 

"  May  it  please  your  Honour, 

"  I  have  of  late  seen  French  hats  of  a  pro- 
digious magnitude  pass  by  my  observatory. 

T  "John  Sly." 


384  SPECTATOR. 


NO.   646. 


No.  546.     WEDNESDAY,  NOA'E^MRKll  20,  1712. 


Omtda  patcfacienda,  ut  ne  quid  oiimino  quod  venditor  noril,  emptor 
ignoret.  tull. 

Every  tiling  should  be  fairly  told,  that  the  buver  may  not  be 
ignorant  of  any  thing  which  the  seller  knows.' 

It  gives  me  very  great  scandal  to  observe,  wher- 
ever I  go,  how  much  skill,  in  buying  all  manner  of 
goods,  there  is  necessary  to  defend  yourself  from 
being  cheated  in  whatever  you  see  exposed  to  sale. 
My  reading  makes  such  a  strong  impression  upon 
me,  that  I  should  think  myself  a  cheat  in  my  way, 
if  I  should  translate  any  thing  from  another  tongue, 
and  not  acknowledge  it  to  my  readers.  I  understood 
from  common  report,  that  Mr.  Gibber  was  intro- 
ducing a  French  play  upon  our  stage,  and  thought 
myself  concerned  to  let  the  town  know  what  was 
his,  and  wliat  foreign.*  When  I  came  to  the  re- 
hearsal, I  found  the  house  so  partial  to  one  of  their 
own  fraternity,  that  they  gave  every  thing  which 
was  said  such  grace,  emphasis,  and  force  in  their 
action,  that  it  was  no  easy  matter  to  make  any  judg- 
ment of  the  performance.  Mrs.  Oldfield,  who,  it 
seems,  is  the  heroic  daughter,  had  so  just  a  concep- 
tion of  her  part,  that  her  action  made  what  she  spoke 
appear  decent,  just,  and  noble.  The  passions  of 
terror  and  compassion  they  made  me  believe  were 
very  artfully  raised,  and  the  whole   conduct  of  the 

*  Ximena,  or  the  Heroic  Daughter;  a  tragedy  taken  from  the 
Cid  of  Racine,  by  C.  Gibber. 


NO.  546.  SPECTATOR.  385 

play  artful  and  surpri>in!r.  We  authors  do  not  much' 
relish  the  endeavours  of  players  in  this  kind,  but 
have  the  same  disdain  as  physicians  and  lawyers 
have  when  attorneys  and  apothecaries  give  advice. 
Gibber  himself  took  the  liberty  to  tell  me,  that  he 
expected  I  would  do  him  justice,  and  allow  the  play 
well  prepared  for  his  spectators,  whatever  it  was 
for  his  readers.  He  added  very  many  particulars 
not  uncurious  concerninisr  the  manner  of  taking  an 
audience,  and  laying  wait  not  only  for  their  super- 
ficial applause,  but  also  for  insinuating  into  their 
affections  and  passions,  by  the  artful  management 
of  the  look,  voice,  and  gesture  of  the  speaker.  I 
could  not  but  consent  that  The  Heroic  Daughter 
appeared  in  the  rehearsal  a  moving  entertainment 
wrought  out  of  a  great  and  exemplary  virtue. 

The  advantages  of  action,  show,  and  dress,  on 
these  occasions,  are  allowable,  because  the  merit 
consists  in  being  capable  of  imposing  upon  us  to 
our  advantage  and  entertainment.  All  that  I  was 
going  to  say  about  the  honesty  of  an  author  in  the 
sale  of  his  ware  was,  that  he  ought  to  own  all  that 
he  had  borrowed  from  others,  and  lay  in  a  clear 
light  all  that  he  gives  his  spectators  for  their  money, 
with  an  account  of  the  first  manufacturers.  But  I 
intended  to  give  the  lecture  of  this  day  upon  the 
common  and  prostituted  behaviour  of  traders  in 
ordinai-y  commerce.  The  philosopher  made  it  a 
rule  of  trade,  that  your  profit  ought  to  be  the  com- 
mon profit ;  and  it  is  unjust  to  make  any  step 
towards  gain,  wherein  the  gain  of  even  those  to  whom 
you  sell  is  not  also  consulted.  A  man  may  deceive 
himself  if  he  thinks  fit,  but  he  is  no  better  than  a 
cheat  who  sells  any  thing  without  telling  the  excep- 
tions against  it,  as  well  as  what  is  to  be  said  to  its 
advantage.     The  scandalous  abuse  of  language  and 

VOL.  XI.  25 


38G  SI'KCTATOR.  NO.    5l6. 

iKirdeninj^  of  conscience,  which  may  be  observed 
every  day  in  going  from  one  place  to  another,  is 
what  makes  a  whole  city  to  an  unprejudiced  eye  a 
den  of  thieves.  It  was  no  small  pleasure  to  me  for 
this  reason  to  remark,  as  I  passed  by  Cornhill,  that 
the  shop  of  that  worthy,  honest,  though  lately  un- 
fortunate citizen,  INIr.  .John  Morton,  so  well  known 
in  the  linen  trade,  is  fitting  up  anew.  Since  a  man 
has  been  in  a  distressed  condition,  it  ought  to  be  a 
great  satisfaction  to  have  passed  through  it  in  such 
a  manner  as  not  to  have  lost  the  friendship  of  those 
who  suffered  with  him,  but  to  receive  an  honourable 
acknowledgment  of  his  honesty  from  those  very 
persons  to  whom  the  law  had  consigned  his  estate. 
The  misfortune  of  this  citizen  is  like  to  prove  of 
a  very  general  advantage  to  those  who  shall  deal 
with  him  hereafter ;  for  the  stock  with  which  he 
now  sets  up  being  the  loan  of  his  friends,  he  cannot 
expose  that  to  the  hazards  of  giving  credit,  but  en- 
ters into  a  ready-money  trade,  by  wliich  means  he 
will  both  buy  and  sell  the  best  and  cheapest.  He 
imposes  upon  himself  a  rule  of  affixing  the  value  of 
each  piece  he  sells,  to  the  piece  itself;  so  that  the 
most  ignorant  servant  or  child  will  be  as  good  a 
buyer  at  his  shop  as  the  most  skilful  in  the  trade. 
For  all  which,  you  have  all  his  hopes  and  fortune 
for  your  security.  To  encourage  dealing  after  this 
way,  there  is  not  only  the  avoiding  the  most  infa- 
mous guilt  in  ordinary  bartering ;  but  this  observa- 
tion, that  he  who  buys  with  ready  money  saves  as 
much  to  his  family  as  tlie  state  exacts  out  of  his  land 
for  tlie  security  and  service  of  his  country  ;  that  is 
to  say,  in  plain  English,  sixteen  will  do  as  much  as 
twenty  shillings. 


NO.   546.  SPECTATOR.  387 


"MR.    SPECTATOE, 

"  My  heart  is  so  swelled  with  grateful  sentiments 
on  account  of  some  favours  which  I  have  lately  re- 
ceived, that  I  must  beg  leave  to  give  them  utterance 
amongst  the  crowd  of  other  anonymous  correspond- 
ents ;  and  writing,  I  hope,  will  be  as  great  a  relief 
to  my  forced  silence,  as  it  is  to  your  natural  taci- 
turnity. My  generous  benefactor  will  not  suffer  me 
to  speak  to  him  in  any  terms  of  acknowledgment, 
but  ever  ti-eats  me  as  if  he  had  the  greatest  obliga- 
tions, and  uses  me  with  a  distinction  that  is  not  to 
be  expected  from  one  so  much  my  superior  in  for- 
tune, years,  and  understanding.  He  insinuates,  as 
if  I  had  a  certain  right  to  his  favours  from  some 
merit,  which  his  particular  indulgence  to  me  has 
discovered ;  but  that  is  only  a  beautiful  artifice  to 
lessen  the  pain  an  honest  mind  feels  in  receiving 
obligations  when  there  is  no  probability  of  returning 
them. 

"  A  gift  is  doubled  when  accompanied  with  such 
a  delicacy  of  address ;  but  what  to  me  gives  it  an 
inexpressible  value,  is  its  coming  from  the  man  I 
most  esteem  in  the  world.  It  pleases  me,  indeed, 
as  it  is  an  advantage  and  addition  to  my  fortune  ; 
but  when  I  consider  it  as  an  instance  of  that  good 
man's  friendship,  it  overjoys,  it  transports  me  ;  I  look 
on  it  with  a  lover's  eye,  and  no  longer  regard  the 
gift,  but  the  hand  that  gave  it.  For  my  friendship 
is  so  entirely  void  of  any  gainful  views,  that  it  often 
gives  me  pain  to  think  it  should  have  been  charge- 
able to  him ;  and  I  cannot,  at  some  melancholy 
hours,  help  doing  his  generosity  the  injury  of  fearing 
it  should  cool  on  this  account,  and  that  the  last 
favour  might  be  a  sort  of  legacy  of  a  departing 
friendship. 


388  SPECTATOR- 


NO.   546. 


"I  confess  these  fears  seem  very  groundless  and 
unjust,  but  you  must  forgive  them  to  the  api)rehen- 
sion  of  one  possessed  of  a  great  tieasure,  who  is 
frighted  at  the  most  distant  shadow  of  danger. 

"  Since  I  have  thus  far  opened  my  heart  to  you, 
I  will  not  conceal  the  secret  satisfaction  I  feel  there, 
of  knowing  the  goodness  of  my  friend  will  not  be 
unrewarded.  I  am  pleased  with  thinking  the  provi- 
dence of  the  Almighty  hath  sufficient  blessings  in 
store  for  him,  and  will  certainly  discharge  the  debt, 
though  1  am  not  made  the  happy  instrument  of 
doing  it. 

"  However,  nothing  in  my  power  shall  be  wanting 
to  show  my  gratitude ;  I  will  make  it  the  business 
of  my  life  to  thank  him  ;  and  shall  esteem,  next  to 
him,  those  my  best  friends  who  give  me  the  greatest 
assistance  in  this  good  work.  Printing  this  letter 
would  be  some  little  instance  of  my  gratitude  ;  and 
your  favour  herein  will  very  much  oblige 

"  Your  most  humble  servant,  &;c., 
"  November  24."  "  W.    C." 

T 


NO.    547.  SPECTATOR.  389 


No.  547.     THURSDAY,  NOVEMBER  27,  1712. 


Si  vulnus,  tibi  monstrata  radice  vel  herba 

Non  fitrei  levius,  fugeres  radice  vel  herba 

Profiiiiente  nihil,  curarier  f —         hor.  epist.  ii.  2.  149. 

Suppose  you  had  a  wound,  and  one  that  showed 
An  herb,  which  3'ou  apply'd,  but  found  no  good; 
Would  you  be  fond  of  this,  increase  your  pain. 
And  use  the  fruitless  remedy  again  ?  ckeech. 

It  is  very  difficult  to  praise  a  man  without  putting 
him  out  of  countenance.  My  following  correspond- 
ent has  found  out  this  uncommon  art,  and,  together 
with  his  friends,  has  celebrated  some  of  my  specula- 
tions after  such  a  concealed  but  diverting  manner, 
that  if  any  of  my  readers  think  I  am  to  blame  in 
publishing  my  own  commendations,  they  will  allow 
I  should  have  deserved  their  censure  as  much,  had 
I  suppressed  the  humour  in  which  they  are  conveyed 
to  me. 

"  SIE, 

''  I  am  often  in  a  private  assembly  of  wits  of  both 
sexes,  where  we  generally  descant  upon  your  specu- 
lations, or  upon  the  subjects  on  which  you  have 
treated.  We  were  last  Tuesday  talking  of  those  two 
volumes  which  you  have  lately  published.  Some 
were  commending  one  of  your  papers,  and  some 
another  ;  and  there  was  scarce  a  single  person  in 
the  company  that  had  not  a  favourite  speculation. 
Upon  this,  a  man  of  wit  and  learning  told  us,  he 
thought  it  would  not  be  amiss  if  Ave  paid  the  Spec- 


390  SPECTATOR.  NO.  547. 

tator  the  same  compliment  that  is  often  made  in  our 
l)ublic  prints  to  Sir  William  Read,  Dr.  Grant,  Mr, 
Moor,  the  apothecary,  and  other  eminent  physicians, 
wliere  it  is  usual  for  tiie  patients  to  publish  the  cures 
wliich  have  been  made  upon  them,  and  the  several 
distempers  under  which  they  laboured.  The  pro- 
posal took ;  and  the  lady  where  we  visited  having 
the  last  two  volumes  in  lai'ge  paper  interleaved  for 
her  own  private  use,  ordered  them  to  be  brought 
down,  and  laid  in  the  window,  whither  every  one  in 
the  company  retired,  and  writ  down  a  particular 
advertisement  in  the  style  and  phrase  of  the  like 
ingenious  compositions  which  we  frequently  meet 
with  at  the  end  of  our  newspapers.  When  we  had 
finished  our  work,  we  read  them  with  a  great  deal 
of  mirth  at  the  fireside,  and  agreed  nemine  contra- 
dicente,  to  get  them  transcribed,  and  sent  to  the 
Spectator.  The  gentleman  who  made  the  proposal 
entered  the  following  advertisement  before  the  title- 
page,  after  which  the  rest  succeeded  in  order. 

'  Remedhtm  cfficax  et  universum  ;  or,  an  effectual 
remedy,  adapted  to  all  capacities  ;  showing  how  any 
person  may  cure  himself  of  ill-nature,  pride,  party- 
spleen,  or  any  other  dislemj)er  incident  to  the  hu- 
man system,  Avith  an  easy  way  to  know  when  the 
infection  is  upon  him.  This  panacea  is  as  innocent 
as  bread,  agreeable  to  the  taste,  and  requires  no  con- 
finement. It  has  not  its  equal  in  the  universe,  as 
abundance  of  the  nobility  and  gentry  throughout  the 
kingdom  have  experienced. 

'  N.  B.     No  family  ought  to  be  without  it.' 

"  Over  the  two  Spectators  on  jealousy,  being  the  first 
two  in  the  third  volume.     JNos.  170,  171. 

'  I,  William  Crazy,  aged  threescore  and  seven, 
having  been  for  several  years  afflicted  with  uneasy 

t 


NO.    547.  SPECTATOR.  ,  391 

doubts,  fears,  and  vapours,  occasioned  by  the  youth 
and  beauty  of  Mary,  my  wife,  aged  twenty-five,  do 
hereby,  for  the  benefit  of  the  public,  give  notice,^ 
that  I  have  found  great  relief  from  the  two  following 
doses,  having  taken  them  two  mornings  together 
with  a  dish  of  chocolate.     Witness  my  hand,'  &c. 

'  For  the  Benefit  of  the  Poor. 

'  In  charity  to  such  as  are  troubled  with  the  dis- 
ease of  levee-hunting,  and  are  forced  to  seek  their 
bread  every  morning  at  the  chamber-doors  of  great 
men,  I,  A.  B.,  do  testify,  that  for  many  years  past 
I  laboured  under  this  fashionable  distemper,  but  was 
cured  of  it  by  a  remedy  which  I  bought  of  Mrs. 
Baldwin,  contained  in  a  half  sheet  of  paper,  marked 
No.  193,  where  any  one  may  be  jirovided  with  the 
same  remedy  at  the  price  of  a  single  penny.' 

'  An  infallible  cure  for  hypochondriac  melancholy, 
Nos.  173,  184,  191,  203,  209,  221,  233,  235,  239, 
245,  247,  251. 

'  Probatum  est.'  '  Charles  Easy.' 

'  I,  Christopher  Query,  having  been  troubled  with 
a  certain  distemper  in  my  tongue,  which  showed 
itself  in  impertinent  and  superfluous  interrogato- 
ries, have  not  asked  one  unnecessary  question  since 
my  perusal  of  the  prescription  marked  No.  228.' 

'  The  Britannic  Beautifier,*  being  an  essay  on 
modesty.  No.  231,which  gives  such  a  dehghtful  blush- 
ing colour  to  the  cheeks  of  those  that  are  white  or 
pale,  that  it  is  not  to  be  distinguished  from  a  natural 


*  Translated  from  the  advertisement  of  the  Red  Bavariaa 
Liquor.     Spec,  in  folio,  No.  545.         * 


392  SPECTATOU.  NO.    547. 

fine  complexion,  nor  perceived  to  be  artificial  by 
tiie  nearest  friend,  is  notliing  of  ])uint,  or  in  the  least 
hurtful.  It  renders  the  face  delifihtfully  handsome  ; 
it  is  not  subject  to  be  rubbed  off,  and  cannot  be 
paralleled  by  either  wash,  |)o\vder,  cosmetic,  &c. 
It  is  certainly  the  best  beautiiier  in  the  world. 

'  Mautha  Gloavworm.' 

'  I  Samuel  Self,  of  the  parish  of  St.  James,  hav- 
ing a  constitution  which  naturally  abounds  with 
acids,  made  use  of  a  paper  of  directions  marked  No. 
177,  recommending  a  healthful  exercise  called  good- 
nature, and  have  found  it  a  most  excellent  sweetener 
of  the  blood.' 

'  Whereas  I,  Elizabeth  Rainbow,  was  troubled 
with  that  distemper  in  my  head,  which  about  a  year 
ago  was  pretty  epidemical  among  the  ladies,  and 
discovered  itself  in  the  colour  of  their. hoods;  hav- 
ing made  use  of  the  doctor's  cephalic  tincture,  which 
he  exhibited  to  the  public  in  one  of  his  last  year's 
l)apers,  I  recovered  in  a  very  few  days.' 

'  I  George  Gloom,  have  for  a  long  time  been 
troubled  with  the  spleen,  and  being  advised  by  my 
friends  to  put  myself  into  a  course  of  Steele,  did  for 
that  end  make  use  of  remedies  conveyed  to  me  se- 
veral mornings,  in  short  letters,  from  the  hands  of 
the  invisible  doctor.  They  were  marked  at  the  bot- 
tom Nathaniel  Henroost,  Alice  Threadneedle,  Re- 
becca Nettletop,  Tom  Loveless,  Mary  Meanwell, 
Thomas  Snioaky,  Anthony  Freeman,  Tom  Meggot, 
Rustick  Spritely,  &c.,  which  liave  had  so  good  an 
effect  upon  rae,  that  I  now  find  myself  cheerful, 
lightsome,  and  easy ;  and  therefore  do  recommend 
them  to  all  such  as  labour  under  the  same  distem- 
per.' " 


XO.    548.  SPECTATOR.  393 

Not  having  room  to  insert  all  the  advertisements 
which  were  sent  me,  I  have  only  picked  out  some 
few  from  the  third  volume,  reserving  the  fourth  for 
another  opportunity. 


No.  548.     FRIDAY,  NOVEMBER  28,  1712. 


—  Viiiis  nemo  sine  nascitur :  opiimus  ille  est, 
Qui  minimis  urgetur. —  hor.  sat.  i.  -S.  88. 

There's  none  but  has  some  fault;  and  he's  the  best, 
Most  vktuous  he,  that's  spotted  with  the  least. 

CKEECH. 
"  MR.    SPECTATOR, 

"  I  HAVE  read  this  day's  paper  with  a  great  deal 
of  pleasure,  and  could  send  you  an  account  of  several 
elixirs  and  antidotes  in  your  thii'd  volume,  which 
your  correspondents  have  not  taken  notice  of  in 
their  advertisements  ;  and  at  the  same  time  must 
own  to  you,  that  I  have  seldom  seen  a  shop  fur- 
nished with  such  a  variety  of  medicaments,  and  in 
which  there  are  fewer  soporifics.  The  several  ve- 
hicles you  have  invented  for  conveying  your  unac- 
ceptable truths  to  us,  ai*e  what  I  most  particularly 
admire,  as  I  am  afraid  they  are  secrets  which  will 
die  with  you.  I  do  not  find  that  any  of  your  critical 
essays  are  taken  notice  of  in  this  paper,  notwith- 
standing I  look  upon  them  to  be  excellent  cleansers 
of  the  brain,  and  could  venture  to  superscribe  them 
with  an  advertisement  wiiicli  I  have  lately  seen  in 


394  SPECTATOU.  NO.   548. 

one  of  our  newspapers,  wherein  there  is  an  account 
given  of  a  sovereign  remedy  for  lestoring  the  taste 
to  all  snch  persons  whose  ])alates  have  been  vi- 
tiated by  distempers,  unwholesome  food,  or  any  the 
like  occasions.  But  to  let  fall  the  alUision,  notwith- 
standing your  criticisms,  and  particularly  the  can- 
dour which  you  have  discovered  in  them,  are  not 
the  least  taking  part  of  your  works,  I  find  your 
o])inion  concerning  poetical  justice,  as  it  is  expressed 
in  the  first  part  of  your  fortieth  Spectator,  is  con- 
troverted by  some  eminent  critics ;  and  as  you  now 
seem,  to  our  great  grief  of  heart,  to  be  winding  up 
your  bottoms,  I  hoped  you  would  have  enlarged 
a  little  upon  that  subject.  It  is  indeed  but  a  single 
paragraph  in  your  works,  and  I  believe  those  who 
have  read  it  with  the  same  attention  I  have  done, 
will  think  there  is  nothing  to  be  objected  against  it. 
I  have,  however,  drawn  up  some  additional  argu- 
ments to  strengthen  the  opinion  which  you  have 
there  delivered,  having  endeavoured  to  go  to  the 
bottom  of  that  matter,  which  you  may  either  publish 
or  suppress,  as  you  think  fit. 

"  Horace  in  my  motto  says,  that  all  men  are 
vicious,  and  that  they  differ  from  one  another  only 
as  they  are  more  or  less  so.  Boileau  has  given  the 
same  account  of  our  wisdom,  as  Horace  has  of  our 
virtue. 

Tous  les  hommes  sont  fous,  et,  malgre  tons  leurs  soins, 
iVe  different  entre  eux  que  duplus  et  du  moim. 

"All  men,"  says  he,  "are  fools,  and,  in  spite 
of  their  endeavours  to  the  contrary,  diflf'er  from  one 
another  only  as  they  are  more  or  less  so." 

"  Two  or  three  of  the  old  Greek  poets  have  given 
the  same  turn  to  a  sentence  which  describes  the 
happiness  of  man  in  this  life  : 


NO.   548.  SPECTATOR.  395 

t  To  ^yv  a/luTTWf,  uvSpbg  harlv  evrvxovg- 

That  man  is  most  happy  who  is  the  least  mise- 
rable. It  will  not  perhaps  be  unentertaining  to  the 
polite  reader  to  observe  how  these  three  beautiful 
sentences  are  formed  upon  different  subjects  by  the 
same  way  of  thinking;  but  I  shall  return  to  the 
first  of  them. 

"  Our  goodness  being  of  a  comparative  and  not 
an  absolute  nature,  there  is  none  who  in  strictness 
can  be  called  a  virtuous  man.  Every  one  has  in 
him  a  natural  alloy,  though  one  may  be  fuller  of 
dross  than  another :  for  this  reason,  I  cannot  think 
it  right  to  introduce  a  perfect  or  a  faultless  man  upon 
the  stage  ;  not  only  because  such  a  character  is  im- 
proper to  move  compassion,  but  because  there  is  no 
such'  thing  in  nature.  This  might  probably  be  one 
reason  why  the  Spectator,  in  one  of  his  papers,  took 
notice  of  that  late  invented  term  called  poetical 
justice,  and  the  wrong  notions  into  which  it  has  led 
some  tragic  writers.  The  most  perfect  man  has 
vices  enough  to  draw  down  punishments  upon  his 
head,  and  to  justify  Providence  in  regard  to  any 
miseries  that  may  befall  him.  For  this  reason,  1 
cannot  think  but  that  the  instruction  and  moral  are 
much  finer,  where  a  man  who  is  virtuous  in  the 
main  of  his  character  falls  into  distress,  and  sinks 
under  the  blows  of  fortune  at  the  end  of  a  tragedy, 
than  when  he  is  represented  as  happy  and  triumph- 
ant. Such  an  example  corrects  the  insolence  of 
human  nature,  softens  the  mind  of  the  beholder  with 
sentiments  of  pity  and  compassion,  comforts  him 
under  his  own  private  afliiction,  and  teaches  him  not 
to  judge  of  men's  virtues  by  their  successes.  1  can- 
not think  of  one  real  hero  in  all  antiquity  so  far  raised 
above  human  infirmities,  that  he  might  not  be  very 


096  Sl'i:CT.\TOR.  NO.   548. 

naturally  reprosentod  in  a  tragedy  as  pUinfrcd  in 
niisl'ortunes  and  calamities.  Tlie  poet  may  still  find 
out  some  prevailing  passion  or  indiscretion  in  his 
character,  and  show  it  in  such  a  manner  as  will  suf- 
ficiently acquit  the  gods  of  any  injustice  in  his  suf- 
ferings. For,  as  Horace  observes  in  my  text,  the 
best  man  is  faulty,  though  not  in  so  great  a  degree 
as  those  whom  we  generally  call  vicious  men. 

"  If  such  a  strict  poetical  justice  as  some  gentle- 
men insist  upon  were  to  be  observed  in  this  art,  there 
is  no  manner  of  reason  why  it  should  not  extend  to 
heroic  poetry  as  well  as  tragedy.  But  we  find  it  so 
little  observed  in  Homer,  that  liis  Achilles  is  placed 
in  the  greatest  point  of  glory  and  success,  though 
his  character  is  morally  vicious,  and  only  poetically 
good,  if  I  may  use  the  phrase  of  our  modern  critics. 
The  ^neid  is  filled  with  innocent,  unhappy  persons. 
Nisus  and  Euryalus,  Lausus  and  Pallas,  come  all 
to  unfortunate  ends.  The  poet  takes  notice  in  par- 
ticular, that,  in  the  sacking  of  Troy,  Kipheus  fell, 
who  was  the  most  just  man  among  the  Trojans, 

—  Cadit  et  Riphetis  justissimus  units 
Qui  fuit  in  Teucris,  el  servantissimus  aqui : 
Diis  aliter  visum. —  ms.  ii.  426. 

and  that  Pantheus  could  neither  be  preserved  by 
his  transcendent  piety,  nor  by  the  holy  fillets  of 
Apollo,  whose  priest  he  was. 


— Nee  te  tua  plurima,  PantJieu, 
LaberUem  pittas,  nee  Apollinis  infula  texit. 


lb.  429. 


1  might  here  mention  the  practice  of  ancient  tragic 
poets,  both  Greek  and  Latin  ;  but  as  this  particular 
is  touched  upon  in  the  paper  above  mentioned,  I 
shall  pass  it  over  in  silence.  I  could  produce  pas- 
sages out  of  Aristotle  in  favour  of  my  opinion ;  and 


NO.    548.  SPECTATOR.  397 

if  in  one  place  he  says  tliat  an  absolutely  virtuous 
man  should  not  be  represented  as  unhappy,  this  does 
not  justify  any  one  who  shall  think  fit  to  bring  in  an 
absolutely  virtuous  man  upon  the  stage.  Those 
who  are  acquainted  with  that  author's  way  of  writ- 
ing, know  very  well  that,  to  take  the  whole  extent 
of  his  subject  into  his  divisions  of  it,  he  often  makes 
use  of  such  cases  as  are  imaginary,  and  not  reducible 
to  practice.  He  himself  declares  that  such  tragedies 
as  ended  unhappily  bore  away  the  prize  in  theatrical 
contentions,  from  those  which  ended  happily  ;  and 
for  the  fortieth  speculation,  which  I  am  now  con- 
sidering, as  it  has  given  reasons  why  these  are  more 
apt  to  please  an  audience,  so  it  only  proves  that 
these  are  generally  prefei*able  to  the  other,  though 
at  the  same  time  it  affirms  that  many  excellent 
tragedies  have  and  may  be  written  in  both  kinds. 

'•  I  shall  conclude  with  observing,  that  though  the 
Spectator  above  mentioned  is  so  far  against  the  rule 
of  poetical  justice,  as  to  affirm  that  good  men  may 
meet  with  an  unhappy  catastrophe  in  tragedy,  it 
does  not  say  that  ill  men  may  go  off  unpunished. 
The  reason  for  this  distinction  is  vei-y  plain,  namely, 
because  the  best  of  men  are  vicious  enough  to  jus- 
tify Providence  for  any  misfortunes  and  afflictions 
which  may  befall  them,  but  there  are  many  men  so 
criminal  that  they  can  have  no  claim  or  pretence 
to  happiness.  The  best  of  men  may  deserve  punish- 
ment, but  the  worst  of  men  cannot  deserve  hap- 
piness. 
"  November  27,  1712." 


END    OF    VOL.    XI. 


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